Words by Jordan Flay
Each day autumn leaves,
And we creep closer to winter.
We dance around like thieves,
Avoiding the dead grass splinters.
Me – the fire, you – the flood. Never, or always too much
I joke that you remind me a bit,
Of a golden retriever my aunt owned.
I stumble around to not admit,
I still have the scar on my arm from his jawbone.
People tend to forget that about you-
That the kindness hides teeth, too
You were there, sweetheart,
I learned what ‘autopsy’ meant.
To take someone apart,
So you could find their discontent.
This is how I have always felt love ,
Buried open among the foxglove.
You try to tell me a story,
Of pomegranate and bloodshed.
Where the hero gets the glory,
And the dragon ends up dead.
I don’t think you meant to imply,
But I’m the dragon, promised to die.
You were always the hero in prose,
I couldn’t see you as any less.
Couldn’t picture the shadows,
Hidden in the white lace of your dress.
You hold me like water in your hand.
Foolishly calling me your homeland.
Winter’s first day is warm,
And it’s a pleasant surprise,
Hiding threats of an imminent storm,
And beautiful grey skies.
Whispered requests during winter showers,
At my funeral, there will be no flowers.