depression is funny sometimes

The trees are shedding their pennants, and I

Fall into remembering, petrichor, and you,

​

and ear-marked days of pregnant silences

and a body worn like a thrift-store coat

​

A squirrel half-buried under leaves and frost

Cold-soft in my hands, and heavy with wet

as the snow and I melted into its fur

​

You gesture. I mumble, the trees are dying -

Just the leaves, you answer, the trees are fine.

​

I remember thinking how fortunate you were

to understand so little of dying

​

How death was not a destination

But crept in under cracked fingernails

Hid in the hollow spaces between our teeth

​

How piecemeal the leaves expired

and abandoned their posts

​

How time withers -

drop by drop

by drop

​

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