I think I’ll miss the lightning bugs
next June. I’ll even miss the briar
that kissed me crescent-thin scars.
It was never a forever thing but I thought
The smell of pine and smoke might never
leave my flannel- that the burnt flush
of my cheeks might never be gone too.
I hate to see it fade as good things ought to;
like my best pair of jeans or a picture held
too often to the light. It’s in those vanished moments-
maybe it is there you told me,
our backs sticky on the bare mattress,
about your favorite wreath of stars
and why old gods hung it there.
you were wrong to say it was an act of love-
the flies in the jar and Callisto in his sky.
drifting follows heavy and horizon promises
no fixed constellations- a world just cruel enough
to let me have you one last time.
next June. I’ll even miss the briar
that kissed me crescent-thin scars.
It was never a forever thing but I thought
The smell of pine and smoke might never
leave my flannel- that the burnt flush
of my cheeks might never be gone too.
I hate to see it fade as good things ought to;
like my best pair of jeans or a picture held
too often to the light. It’s in those vanished moments-
maybe it is there you told me,
our backs sticky on the bare mattress,
about your favorite wreath of stars
and why old gods hung it there.
you were wrong to say it was an act of love-
the flies in the jar and Callisto in his sky.
drifting follows heavy and horizon promises
no fixed constellations- a world just cruel enough
to let me have you one last time.
McCaela Prentice is a Maine writer currently living in NYC. Her poetry has previously been featured in Ghost City Review, Lammergeier Magazine, and Honey & Lime Literary Magazine. McCaela was also an honorable mention in the 2019 Small Orange Emerging Woman Poet Honor. Twitter: @mccaelaa, Instagram: @mccaelaa.