Talk To Her

It all comes and goes in waves

Everything looks the same

The cornfields, the cows, the flies, the coughing

The musky air that fills our rows and permeates

Even through the ash-infested vents from the fires

Eating away at barks of trees like this moment

Eating away at the last dose of happiness lingering

On the dust of our bones

The other night, wrapped in crispy motel sheets

I clenched my body and pretended I was an embryo in my mother’s womb

It was the only source of warmth and comfort that could sing me to sleep

And now, I see the sheep out the window, on green pastures

I hope they have water

I sometimes imagine myself being reincarnated as one

And jumping over these low wired fences to freedom

I wonder how far I could make it without a human catching me

Taming me, bringing me back to their living painting

A life to look at as they wash the dishes

Smeared with my mother’s milk that they stole from me

It’s raining, finally

And the van is slowly drifting into the other lane

Eddie is driving

Everyone else is asleep, sometimes coming up for air

Their heads poking up like groundhogs before sinking back into their holes

But it’s not all dark and grim

There are moments of hope

They come to me when it’s quiet

They come to me when everyone is synced in their levels of happy

Which doesn’t happen so often, but when it does, it’s nice

I wonder if we’ll look back and think that these miles of cornfields

These anguished breaths, these forced smiles, these moments when we’re gone

The momentary calms

And the thousands of little bugs pressed against our windshield

Were all worth it

I don’t know exactly where I'm supposed to be

It’s a hollow thought that takes control of me

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)