Five Months


Five Months


May in your Bedroom
Lilacs rose beyond your window when the world
fell silent. You heard remnants worthy of lament 
like a seashell pressed against an ear; petals 
revealing a windy gust of secrets.

June at the Chapel
A prevailing scent of angels wafted through 
his celebration of life as if the incense was made 
of halos and wings amidst the gentle creep of peace. 
Death brings memories where nothing’s meant to keep.

July in the Apartment
She wept alone though one door away her neighbors
eavesdropped with a glass against the wall. A throng 
of listeners addicted to someone else’s sorrow
as if misery was something made to borrow. 

August after the Move
All I can do is pretend to know what knowing is, 
and pretending is better than knowing when 
the outcome is a shaky plan at best. There’s 
no such thing as sleep, though some may rest. 

September in the Garage
Those dolls are missing the child they used 
to play with. They sense disorder, their eyes 
never blink for fear someone will think 
they’re slumbering from idleness.

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