— Inspired by "The Leaving", a poem by Brigit Pegeen Kelly
After the fog lifted, sunlight dappled through an ancient curtain,
a slow revelation, yet only silence remained.
I found repose by the north side of the house
where only moss felt safe enough to grow; deep, lush, damp,
a thickened brush of emerald heavy near four symmetrical cherry trees,
long before Pablo found me (or I found him),
I knew the taste and texture of melancholy,
the feeling of an ocean surging inside the caverns of my heart.
On the south side, two imposing pear trees stood;
hornets would gather there, greedily gathering fallen fruit's waste,
waiting to insert their barbed stingers into the tender foot of a child
who would not weep, who would only mourn
their sudden, terrible demise.