Colors frame defining moments.
The trees are orange and
I can almost feel my lungs fill with the amber air of your childhood: the fiery tinglings of
playing war and throwing sticks and coronating boyishness– of pressing your little toes against
sturdy boulders and declaring yourself king of the vibrant hums of the woods.
There are mansions wedged between those trees now (the boulders are cracked in half),
and I can hear the police sirens in Hazleton, of you
inhaling and claiming “the neighborhood wasn’t always this rough” as you lead us
down crumbling sidewalks;
the fall air is stale here
with the heaviness of what used to be
and I try to breathe it in–
I try to breathe it in
for your sake.
~Written by Hannah
This is an excerpt of a four-part poem I am currently working on. Thank you so much for reading; comments are greatly appreciated. 🙂