honest august


Come in, don’t
be afraid, August,
our blunt fists won’t
bite your innocence,

we just want you
to please be honest,
when can we
taste the harvest
of our last months’
chaos and mess?

See, our nails
are filled with dirt
digging some
seeds of winter hope
to plant some
spring fruit of faith,

our tongues are
white with prayer,
our eyes salted as
blue sea in summer,

our feet chained
as a bruised flyer,
so can you whisper
to September and
her gangs of -ber’s
to make up for
the first half’s blur?

We promise to take
the lessons of this
cruel semester,
perhaps as much
as our mortal minds
can remember.

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For dVerse Just Sayin’ . . .