Rec | PARTY 4 U : A HAIKU

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PARTY 4 U : A HAIKU

The sound falls away and there we are, impressions of one another

@laurenocal

2d ago

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@laurenocal

play the song in your brain while reading this one

2d ago

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leaving the party early

• • • • • • • • • • • • stoke the fire in the garden, soup simmers in the pot, twilight shade on faces, timbre that two years forgot. we survived a plague and the forgetting is the cost, I’ve learned to keep better friends than those I've lost. sharing smoke porch swing belonging escaped me long ago, time splits tannins on twisted tongue. feels wrong you don't know my dad’s name, or my street beneath the moon, you don’t know that in one year this ends by afternoon. so I leave the party early, the night is dark and gone— so I leave the party early, there is quiet in my lungs. • • • • • • • • • • • • thanks 4 reading :) /megan crayne/

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@tennyyyy

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A MOMENT IN THE WOODS THE OTHER DAY

a couple months ago I'm out behind the gabled house with dregs of home still seeping through its edges, a sharp sort of newness ripping the seams of who I am & who I was, sweaty fingers slipping from between each other with the bloodied grasp of desperation - it is a spring day, and I am here again. the leaves are new and the blinking infant furled in the strands of my chest takes a breath and every time I trudge through these vine-ridden woods I feel her grubby hands trace the creases in my ribcage. there are ghosts here, the soulmate-friend across the ocean and I and the way we'd take axes to the already-fallen trees like our anger was spraying away with the bark and we were left with only breeze. there are the phantoms of our hands stuck in the mud, ripped leaves beneath our fingernails as we unclogged the flow of the creek and watched the water dig its trenches deeper, and now i'm watching it capture the light of a new year in my hometown alone. through the leaves and over the tinny chorus of water-on-rock I hear the echoes of a mother calling to her children in a game of hide-and-seek, her children laughing, the clamor of it like a memory captured on tape and played back. there is a hole here, radio waves rippling through years folded back and punched through, I a bystander to the reminiscence of a stranger years down the line when some part of that laughter will be lost. it is here. it is here now, in the backyard of a house I sometimes call home.