Tuesday, October 16, 2018

In Autumn

My hands are birds praying
in time to heart beat, my feet.

Fingers flying across the open
face of my phone, I am looking

for you in a midwestern town
where you have never lived

I am looking for my father
I am looking at my father

I am writing our name in pain
even as the pen runs dry, dies


*This was supposed to be a picture of autumn tones in Bakersfield Park, but my phone died as I tried to take a picture. As best as I can tell, it died... from the cold? Apparently winter is coming for more than just tropical me.

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