I feel it in my chest.
Like change. Like death.
I try to write a new song, but all I get are scribbles and tear stains.
The only lyric that sticks is “you promised.”
***
October
The leaves turn golden. I don’t.
My brother puts pumpkins on the front porch and lights cinnamon candles.
He’s trying.
I pretend I don’t see the concern in his eyes when I skip dinner three nights in a row. When I stare too long at the TV without registering a word.
I write half a song. Just pieces. Four chords and a broken chorus I can’t sing out loud.
Sometimes I think I hear Toaster scratching at the door.
Sometimes I think I hear Chase call my name.
But it’s just the house settling. Just memory playing tricks on me.
Halloween comes, and my costume is no different than the last few months.
I sit on the porch with a bowl of candy and wait for ghosts.
None of them look like him.
Take me back to
Midnight skies
Fireflies
Whiskey eyes
And honey moons disguised
As beautiful lies
***
Earthworms have five hearts.
I learned that in fourth grade, sitting cross-legged in the grass while my teacher held one up with gloved hands and a plastic magnifier.
“Five hearts,” she said. “So even when they’re torn in half, sometimes they still twitch.”
That stuck with me.
Not the hearts—
The twitch.
