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mel-harcumPoems
I remember the old back road I used to drive-- the one that connected my house to yours with the abrupt boom of green mountainside, fog clinging in patches above the evergreen awning, and the old pine reaching far higher than the rest--a monument to the trees growing steady in your eyes. I haven’t forgotten how your irises, only saplings, drowned in the flood of ‘06 as the Delaware crawled over the bank and into your head. I never knew what to make of your ripple-warped, water-stained fears crashing rampant as the broken **** that swallowed Church Street. They reminded me of tangled thorns, my fingers scarred from moonlit attempts to smooth needle-edged guilt as you repeated to me: I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, I should have known. You told me how you knew I would, too, wash away-- that’s just what people did after floods.
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Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Sapling Eyes, Coming Home
I remember the old back road I used to drive-- the one that connected my house to yours with the abrupt boom of green mountainside, fog clinging in patches above the evergreen awning, and the old pine reaching far higher than the rest--a monument to the trees growing steady in your eyes. I haven’t forgotten how your irises, only saplings, drowned in the flood of ‘06 as the Delaware crawled over the bank and into your head. I never knew what to make of your ripple-warped, water-stained fears crashing rampant as the broken **** that swallowed Church Street. They reminded me of tangled thorns, my fingers scarred from moonlit attempts to smooth needle-edged guilt as you repeated to me: I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, I should have known. You told me how you knew I would, too, wash away-- that’s just what people did after floods.
#depression#illness#mentalillness#nature#mental#tree#grief#flood#pine#delaware
mel-harcum
Written by
mel-harcum
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
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