"Moonshot" by Scott Burwash

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Two seasons have passed since I last saw you,
alone in the fen with your antlers and bare expressions.
They tell me that I will get better in time,
but I spend most days folding paper cranes to no end.
The thing I never said to you lives under my tongue,
pregnant with guilt and hoping for absolution.
If you flew to my open window tonight
I would ask you to stay with me until the rain comes back.
Do you still have the pressed flowers that my grandpa
gave you or did they spill onto the floor like everything else?


Covering my eyes now.


Waiting for everything to still.

 

Scott Burwash (he/him) is a writer of poetry and prose with previous work appearing in Apeiron Review, Eclectica Magazine, and Dark Harbor Magazine. You can find him on Instagram and Bluesky (@scottburwash).