by Amy-Catherine Welch
pt 1. (in August)
The rain came down softly on my skin the last time I saw her
All I ever wished for was a cabin in the woods for us to run away together
so I've been looking up flights to Ireland
looking at borders
looking up masks and Hepa filters
holding on to hope like a thread above me swaying
Early mornings make me think of her
what is second person third person anyways
except a device
and a way to remember.
Is it a sin that I just want to abandon my acting career and grow vegetables?
I miss theatre with every fiber of my being.
Maybe I can put on a production of Hamlet, lying under tomatoes and cucumbers
and I can feel the drama in the rain and shout these stories to neighbors
and through screens
I want to dance loudly here.
pt 2. (in October)
I sit in silence
vines grow in cracks
around the bend
Tiny gardens in a concrete jungle
aching to be wild
but confined by a fence built by man
I want love and wind to sweep me away
to live inside the scarecrows my neighbors put up
to see the world through straw
Will it wash away my fears?
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