Garden song
(Paris, 2020)
Woke up alone again.
Blissful relief in the morning breeze;
he’s shivering through the alabaster curtains.
Fourteen months clean and sober;
things are looking good in the mirror.
But there’s someone I let in a long time ago;
She’s tapping on the back door in my mind.
I know her, but she wears a different hat every time she stops by.
Sometimes for an hour, sometimes for days.
She carries vintage bags under her eyes, and her hair’s a mess. And some say it’s charming when she rambles and strangles her own dreams.
If I ask her, “you alright?” I’ll find myself flat on my back, gasping for air.
If it’s a good day, she’ll take me to the garden, with the oblivious, cheerful sun sparkling through the trees above me, and the pigeons cooing a melody that sounds like panic and tunnel vision.
