Meadows

By Donna Acosta San Juan

The Centennialight

There was a turning point between the vines of our arteries

That took to ash where lilies of the valley once bloomed

And claimed that our ribbons should no longer be intertwined

And they were cut-

Just like that

Goodbyes were murmured to the dirt, and we left-

Just like that

Water still simmers

Set in the warm tin pot

The window is still cracked, rustling the letters of what once was

It seemed that our bodies eloped with scarves and betrayal and grudges that bloomed in new huts

It’s necessary for piece of mind

To be rid of any glimpse of empathy- for you alone

Resentment is my drive to pursue all things, the golden hues of the sky and the moon 

Everything but you 

And I do