JORDAN REDEKOP-JONES

a list for you

I’d blame the rain too. I’d call it tears.
I’d call the trees lungs, but they are dying.
Western skies burning up the earth.
I’d warn the mountains, but we are down here
drowning in the sea.
I’d shoot a flame across the sky. I’d call it hope.
I’d pass hours in my sleep.
I’d say, such is life.
I’d tuck away every fear.
Plant it in another body. Another planet.
Another womb. I’d call it weak, I’d call it sickly.
The skull is a rock beaten, mentally. The body,
a risen tomb.
I’d blame anyone but myself. Let it pile, cough up
dirt, stall the truth.
I’d call it a feast for tomorrow.
I’d call it a regular afternoon.

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