Jake Platt
I THOUGHT I LOST YOU
When the snow melts in spring
my seasonal affective disorder evaporates with it
I can greet the freshly revealed trash with a smile
Leaves have likewise not yet finished dying
spring being fall put on hold, the latter
not lasting long enough for everything to die properly
A walk through a graveyard sounds pleasant
as I view them from the passenger seat
of a too small sedan
Landscapes scattered with refuse allow the eye to
dart and play as the grass remains as of yet ungreen
Every white plastic bag caught precariously on
a tree branch waves like a truce
Mother nature is the paragon of a sculptress
I know she will do with these things as she sees fit
The bag of empty beer bottles adorned with desiccated
human feces has disappeared from outside the apartment
She has already begun