Yellow Wood

Trigger warning for discussion of suicide.

By Suze KayPublished 3 years ago • Updated 3 years ago • 1 min read

Jimmy takes his gun into the woods. Jimmy has done this

before, and never will again.

The light is yellow. The trees are tall. Birch bark

pulls like ribbons from a pole.

I like to imagine crickets chirring. I like to imagine he

stops

to pick a flower, stroke a petal.

But these things are hard to find on cold November

mornings, and this morning is cold.

Jimmy takes his gun into the woods. No one is around to

hear it, and so no one knows. I will not imagine this.

My dearest wish: he smells no smoke, tastes only honey.

Leaves fall, one and two, to touch his brow.

Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.

Find here: stories that creep up on you, poems to stumble over, and the weird words I hold them in.

Or, let me catch you at www.suzekay.com

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