Annual Letter Home

March 5, 2018

Death was
 summer camp.
Untied shoe laces, blue balls.
Sun meant waking up.
I left mud stained on her dress,
 leaving the mound after a long game.
Weeks are months are years,
  cabin fever.
My eyes are leeches in the water.
My body never remembers to mail letters.

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload

Featured Posts

Wandering Walls

March 5, 2018

1/8
Please reload

Recent Posts

April 25, 2019

April 25, 2019

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018

Please reload

Archive
Please reload

Search By Tags