here are some lies i’ve told you today:
- i’m fine
- it’s ok
you don’t understand what I mean when I say
“but they’re my kin”
maybe it’s because you grew up kicking anthills
you were brought up with generations
that don’t know what it feels like
to run your hands over stretched hide
but they’re my kin
you’re probably confused.
i don’t know if you’ve felt what it’s like
to mourn a stranger
but these strangers aren’t so distant
from faces we recognize
when we go home.
you laugh when i say i can smell the seasons change
but then we wake up to frosty mornings caught in low sunlight
the birds know it will snow soon.
the leaves are starting to point down.
autumn brings grief and the end of huckleberries,
it brings longer nights and brighter moons.
the northern lights are stairways to a final home
and they’ve been dancing a long dance
making room in constellations for souls to rest
there’s a particular heartache you feel
maybe you don’t feel it
but there’s a particular heartache we feel
when the river is being dragged
when backroads are being searched
when footprints disappear in snow