It has been a long while now since I walked the circle of white.
My childhood packed up into two Hefty trash bags - tearing at the edges of my fingertips.
A meteor impact was the End of Beginning, its approach incessantly shoved down my throat like he did to his liquor.
How dearly I miss it there...
I remember the sweltering summers that clung to me like his willow eyes.
Countless white plaster shipping containers grew like my Nana's untended garden.
Hydrangeas swallowed the little space between them entirely.
Beneath their roots lay soil akin to moon dust - smelling faintly of Appalachia and Blue Camel cigarettes.
The lunar surface raged with wildfires - and despite it all - everything was just so suffocatingly Green.
I wished relentlessly that the End of Beginning would never become my eventual reality
Counting down the days until zero, the impact forever destroyed my home.
And despite it all,
He was my End of Beginning.
End of Beginning
More by MillieMilesinTheWild
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Poetry Practice: Longing For Summer
Indian Summers beckon with a whispering call,
Longing for warmth without winter's hall.
Imagining bare feet on sun-kissed ground,
Embraced by nature's vibrant sound. -
February 21st
I remember she smelled like cheap canned beer and Ajax dish soap;
Like that industrial elevator onto McClure 4, with the rainbow carpet walls sticking to its skeleton. -
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The salt rained down like stars, scattering their souls across the ebony pavement. It burned through microscopic flakes of glass that lay there, turning to liquid ash. Like a forest fire, life began to sprout within the constellation's cradle.
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