On Trying To Remember That You Can Return

Itโ€™s June in the summer I was afraid of
and everything is fine.

(Were things always this green? The early summer air always so perfumed?)

There is a lake I can visit every day if I want to.
I sit and stare and feel the breeze on my skin
I listen to the waves and the wind rustle through the trees.

I try to remember that I can come back.

That I can have a night like this again,
Tomorrow maybe.

I try not to feel like this substance is running out.

Like the trees feel taller and greener this year
Because itโ€™s some final performance.
As if the curtains are going to close
And everything I see should have already expired. TC mark

๐Ÿ’• Pre-order your copy of Chrissy Stockton’s new poetry book, We Are All Just A Collection Of Cords, here. ๐Ÿ’•

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