May
From the published collection, Catching Dusk With Our Teeth
Inaccurate,
the memories linger
longer
than they
should.
Etched into
the gray matter,
held captive by neurons,
to be rediscovered
during
May drives and
Texas thunderstorms.
Nestled deeply
under layers,
a shadow,
you are an
artifact
in a thrift store flannel
unwashed and
fucking perfect.
You are old Austin,
man.
In an act of
solidarity with my
attempts to forget,
the universe
tried to hide you,
buried you in the folds,
burnt that shit down
literally.
burned the coffee shop I
found you in
when you learned I liked my coffee
not. Too. Hot.
Burned the dancehall
where we didn't dance
but I dreamed of it in tune to
the jukebox
but where we sat on shaky
barstools
day drinking
shuttered the
all night diner where you
told me who you were-
the outlaw
turned hero
turned turncoat
the cafe-
closed.
The house-
sold.
All of it gone
and yet
you remain
like a relic that serves
no purpose.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Morgan Longford and writers in Poets and other communities.
Fish Face
Is it safe? Is it safe? It must be safe. I don’t hear any fishing lures plunking into the water or boats with trolling motors plying the surface of my lake. Yes, I said my lake, even though these air-breathing humans treat it and those of us living in its water as theirs. I have been battling with one of them for almost ten years. He started this war, but he’ll never win.
By Mark Gagnon6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
POW! This is brave, so grand yet intricate.
Powerful, poignant language, Morgan.