Work Text:
olive branches in summer
i.
all war’s deception,
you say, but truth lies
on the tip of your tongue
unspoken, buried
(you’re a bloody liar,
as am i)
two can play at this
silly, silly game
of denial and deceit
we’ll keep lying
(but not lying together,
no. i’ll sleep alone
in this desert heat)
the war rages on,
outside,
between and within
us.
ii.
i’ll be your conscience,
your morality,
everything but
iii.
— yours to hold.
(i’d like to sit with you
on the front porch in june
summer breeze and sunlight
seeping through the spaces
of our dry, callused hands
feel your lips on mine
strawberries and
sorbet and iced tea,
a childhood memory.
i’d like to hold you close,
my heart the only place
you’ll be buried in)
iv.
you’re buried in places
more than one
when the little pistol
buried under my coat
comes alive. a shot goes off,
morality and mortality in one
(don’t go where i can’t follow)
— your hands are cold, sir
where’s the fire in them?
my back burns, again.
at your Grave, i grieve,
eulogies unspoken, unsaid
(there’s no need for words)
v.
fall arrives.
a fleeting wind,
woodsmoke and gossamer,
browning, falling leaves
— and i leave, too.
farewell (fare thee well)
i’ll see you again,
where the seasons never change
we’ll play with olive branches
truths unravelled,
ended wars.
vi.
the world slips from my arms,
but there i can hold you now.
you slip your hands in mine
(your palms on olives are warm)
truthfully, i love you,
you say. i respond in kind
(as do i, as do i)
you kiss me goodnight
and we fall into
ethereal slumbers,
eternal summers
in june, then august,
and january…