A group of kids board the bus and take some seats ahead of me. One of them is faintly singing, and it’s beautiful, whatever it is; his voice was like something from a different time, and place. Then he stopped to pick up conversation with his friends, which lead to someone exclaiming “–she’s lying!”, as if his friend was being mislead and his tone implied it was only obvious, that I cracked a grin, and felt assured that humanity would carry on into the future.
I tried to spark up conversation with you, again, and it went no where, like always. Sometime a few weeks ago, I saw something on your Instagram that struck the final chord and I snapped. Those were the last tears I will shed over you. I see the hole where you use to be but it looks more like a door now, amidst a field of poppy blossoms.
[My mindpalace is pretty magnificent, if I do say so myself.]
I’ll always know to find you in the pines.
Goodbye, Sweet Dixie.
I didn’t know it then, but I wrote something for the occasion, a poem no less. I’m only just a wordsmith.
These thoughts circle like wolves.
Predators. Tooth and claw,
blood and bone; until the soil is saturated.
From this sanguine fluid,
the anemone blossoms,
in the memory of us &
I am laid to rest.