i stand at the edge of a world

my children may never know.

i try to imagine what they will see,

the small joys i took for granted.

the air first softened, the breeze cool.

honey sweet like magnolia blossoms.

i ran over cracked sidewalks,

barefoot, chasing laughter

that ricocheted between bedstraw and harebells,

unaware the shadows of camellia branches

were lengthening faster than our steps.

veined lace of mayapple grows in the bush,

like forest elves holding hats over their faces,

and frogs announced themselves

from every creek,

chorusing like prophets

of rain still to come.

but, this was only the beginning.

 

heat pressed down soon after,

we drank cola from glass bottles,

sugar sticking to our wrists,

while you carved our names into poplar

like you could hold me there forever.

cicadas droned until my ears rang,

and the tar of the roads softened

beneath our feet.

we lay in the field behind the church,

mosquitoes finding us before the stars did,

and you told me your secrets

like confessions no priest would hear.

 

time passes, the oak leaves outside your window

turned the color of rust,

and i counted them one by one

as if they were days left with you.

your jacket began to smell of smoke,

burnt peanut shells,

the faint tartness of apples split open

on the professor’s desk.

the sweetgums grow scabs of lichen,

a muted green spreading like an infection,

and in the ditches, water gathers,

a filthy mirror clouded with pollen,

gnats circling in giddy orbits

like planets refusing order.

 

cold came suddenly, colours fading.

the aspens’ white mimics figures of ghosts,

their bark wet and furrowed,

branches clawing at the sky.

prairie grasses covered under frost,

spines snapping when i pressed my hands against them.

snowdrifts curled into metal fence lines,

as a lone magpie hopped along the roadside.

i walked past abandoned barns,

roofs caved under winter’s weight,

paint peeling like old scars,

and i remembered the last time we touched,

how your shoulder stiffened,

as if even my warmth could not cross the distance

you built between us.

i thought we would be eternal,

always spring and summer,

but the snow came too soon,

the days shortened before we knew it,

and the seasons change,

even when i’m not ready to let go.

and now i can’t stop thinking,

 

what about my children?

the generations to come?

what will they know of love,

when even ours,

once bright as fire,

froze before it could last?