With The Wind Not Stirring At All

(A summer poem written in February, on the eve of my 23rd birthday.)

It’s difficult to know
How long I’ve been lying here.
I’m outside in the sun
But I can’t breathe.
I keep turning over
For a different view.
Fence, grass, sky.
A plane travels slowly across the blue.
So fast, and big,
It crawls along
With the wind not stirring at all
I feel like I might disappear;
Melt away into the ground
Of this quiet garden.
The bright, hot light
Beating down onto my face.
I keep my eyes open
Until they water.
I’m not crying.
I’m not anything.

(The title is a line from ‘So the Wind Won’t Blow It All Away’ by Richard Brautigan.)


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