December came like a thiefin a black robe,at a fated hour while the Gods slept,and devoured my Dad.
January cut me into shards,broke my limbs,crushed my ribs,and dipped my brain in a jar of vinegar.
February’s vicious handsstretched me infinitely,and then, without warning,snapped me back.
March arrived with the scent oftender mango blossoms.Pregnant lily bulbs inched outorange babies of despair.The Friday rains descended withthe shrill of a farmer’s cry,the flowers were soon gone.
April’s sun summoned me,to drink its pink venom of reality.I entered my siesta,Halfway down my throat,it charred my dream and startled me awake.
May brought me wilted flowersfrom the Dutch Cemeteryand shrouded me inwreaths of unheard prayers.
Dear June, be kind.I am broken, beyond repair.Be kind.Rain on my parched soul,flood me with love,let me float around for a whilein a paper boat of memories.Be my home.Dear June.
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Photo by Hannah Domsic on Unsplash