Echo

A week ago I screamed
Hoping I was far
And today it came back
To me
To tell me.
How little I have moved.
How little I have forgotten.

Honeygold

When you're ripe, you're yellow
And when you're green, you're red.
But here you are, freckled with
Raised moles
Whose origin I don't even
Want to know
All over your skin
Like a shoulder in summertime.
Peppered with pink, blushing
Around your bruises.
And what even is your name?
Even as I take a bite from your flesh
And it bites back on the side of my tongue,
You say to me
"Honey, I'm golden."

Place

A locale will not
Change with the people
That flow through it
Like filaments
Or fibers that get caught
In its own memories
And linger before
They release themselves
Further.
There is no sieve that fits
Every particle that could
Want passage and so
Some leave behind their
Carcasses to show that
They were there
And never left.
The East Coast accent scares me
And when I hear my flight attendant
I cry for everything I've lost.