A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
by convention I don’t give thanks in
November, month of dry bones and shattered doors. the month is a gravely long word and things are meant to be burnt in it for warmth or to shed weight. one cannot lug everything through winter and sometimes even children must be left behind. poems shall be burned for the sake of fingertips— burned unread. if there is a time for accepting that the dead are actually gone it shall be covered in broken sticks with a beard of frost. unlike Christ it will become part of the earth and remain so. it is a test. let me be grateful in the spring if I am still human. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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