A Bountiful Harvest

Day stretched shadows over fields plowed in vain, 

letting weeds run rampant, like laughter

slipping out everytime

we remembered the days,

in the woods, or in the barn, 

10 dollar couches thrown 

into bonfires, a beacon 

to what could have been known, 

if words were ever going to be worth more 

than silent companionship.

And sitting on the floor

we all took turns being Scribe, half a life ago,

and yesterday might be even farther,

if I close my eyes I will see us. 

And we wouldn't need to bother

with the green amusements in plastic bags,

keeping secrets to keep us strangers. 

Eddy still remembers, Ethan would’ve left,

because he was always the sensitive one,

when Ryan made us laugh. 

So as this collective memory runs dry, 

we will turn back

to the field and dig up memories

nothing left now to fill the cracks