Barefoot Migration

 

Barefoot Migration

the grass still remembers
where your heel pressed down
like a slow promise
I walk the same path now
toes curling into cold dirt
trying to hold the shape of you last night the moon was a thin blade
cutting the dark open
I let it slice me
so the wind could crawl inside
and ask why I still taste your name
on the back of my tongue you left no footprints
only the quiet
the kind that gathers between ribs
when the birds forget how to sing
I carry it anyway
like a pocket full of river stones
heavy
beautiful
mine some mornings I swear I hear you
laughing in the cottonwood leaves
but it’s only the wind
being honest again