Mixed

vines crawling, hardy leaves open to the sun
all up and down your body, curling around all the muscle
and underneath your hat, pulling your hair

but you don't protest, eyes ever shut as they writhe
and grow as the days pass you by.
your skin never tans as Helios runs

every once in a while, he visits you
you, on your stone slab, hand outstretched
with a white bud blossoming in your palm

he'll pray, pray for forgiveness
you've both lost friends, friends in that fight he had to win.
and now you stay, a testament to them

one day, your eyes will open, black as pitch
onto the green, green grass of the world he created [home]
and he will be waiting, lithely relaxed, waiting for you.

Abriatis

NY

YWP Alumni

More by Abriatis

  • i am me.

    it's 12am on nine-eleven-twenty-twenty.
    my name is rowan, and i am eighteen.
    i have struggled. i have cried. i did not think i'd make it this far.
    i did not think i'd do half the things i have.
  • nine-eleven

    to think that i will be a legal adult tomorrow.
    i could vote. i could buy fish at petsmart.
    i could apply to places like aldi's and tractor supply.

    my birthday, for me, has always been tinged with sadness.
  • placidity

    i watch the numbers tick up.
    i read the headlines.
    suny oneonta shuts down for the semester -
    six hundred cases.

    i go outside.
    i see the masks, worn properly or not.
    the spraying of hand sanitizer,