Mark Bibbins
Who wouldn’t have preferred a longer June; ’thoughthis seems trivial now in these milk-white lights. With Junecomes Folsom East and Pride and waking up in someoneelse’s bed and I am not really good at telling you these liesso I will explain my sadness here; try to come clean. One June,the rain fell nightly; felt like everyone had died. I understandSexton now, though I pretended I did before, tried tograsp onto grief like a child holding onto their mother’sthumb. It can be hard to wake in the middle of someoneelse’s leaving. Impossible even to carry that burden.
No comments:
Post a Comment