Poetry & Art

I Pretend to Love the Dark, But My Garden Calls Me a Liar

There is a time when the dirt darkens my nails

Sage drips across the wind

The poppies didn’t show this year

I mark them tardy

Assume fashionably late

Days tick

The poppies don’t show

I tell myself the colors were raucous

I do not need sunset blooms

The lavender flourishes against the fence

I am breathing fresh earth until it clogs my lungs

I sleep with the mud

My fingers wind around muted palettes

I cradle soft smells

Sing lullabies to birds

The poppies didn’t show this year

I mourn their brightness

by undermeyou

Emily Perkovich is from the Chicago-land area and the Editor in Chief of Querencia Press. Her work strives to erase the stigma surrounding trauma victims and their responses. Her piece This is Performance-Art was a finalist for the 50th New Millennium Writings Award and she is a 2021 Best of the Net nominee. She is previously published with Cathexis Northwest, Coffin Bell Journal, and Awakened Voices among others. She is the author of the poetry collection Godshots Wanted: Apply Within and the novella Swallow. You can find more of her work on IG @undermeyou


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