★✩★ home ★✩★ blinkies ★✩★ blog ★✩★ poems ★✩★
Hang me
From the maple tree,
The one you told me you swung from as a child.
Let my body sway
As autumn breathes.
(You cannot wash away the dirt from beneath your nails
or the bile which coats your throat)
Hanging as you grow old–
Do not look into my face, dare you to meet my eyes–
Allow your children to use my legs like vines:
Squealing and screeching as their grip
On my rotting and flyblown skin shifts.
(Do not let this be
The end of you and I, my dear)
Find me wandering the halls of your summer home.
An echoed cry in abandoned rooms,
Dust-coated couches and bookshelves,
Rough against your ears,
A song you can’t quite place.
(I know you keep my canines beneath your pillow
12/05/2022