Almost home
He told me, through the wind in his teeth and the taste of smoke beneath his tongue: your breath, is the sound of coming home.
I let the chill of winter that wrapped her hands around the trees, wrap up my bones;
They never told me it would feel this way.
I handed my soul to a crowd of people who’s faces were painted red.
I was told by a boy with golden hands that you had to leave me so that I could be free.
I screamed to the wolves and the moon followed,
the orange of my breath spread all over the wildflowers that grew beneath my heals,
my body, sinking into the November ground.
I slammed my fists on the chests of the monsters who wore silver masks,
These monsters could not speak,
But I heard their voices pounding through my ear drums.
This year the seasons have rushed through my bloodstream like piranhas rushing up a river,
I’ve felt the word goodbye engraved everywhere inside my body,
Yet today it feels like the first time I have ever heard it.
I handed my soul to a crowd of people who’s hands felt like winter.
I handed my body to a gust of wind because it’s the closest thing to the sound of your voice.
He told me, through the forest fire that raged inside his throat and the oceans that swam across his bones: your breath, is the sound of coming home.
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