Emily Winters                                                                                                                      

“The Boy from Yesterday”

The scent of gasoline

Evokes dreams of summertime;

Images of scorching trails,

Of leaves slowly curling in on themselves

And blackening with old age –

The feeling of the wind

That urges you to leave

With a pull on your shirtsleeves

And an arrow that’s carved

Into your gut

Demanding a taste of life

Like a petulant child

Who’s had enough of

Wallowing within himself.

Is the finger

That pulled the trigger

The same that caressed

My neck

And drew me closer –

Yet today the dreams

Are dying,

And the past is but

A series of stolen memories

That hang upon the line

With ink that drips

As it dries.

Today, there seems to be

No one left

To crave the future;

To talk nonsense with.

We were fascinated by serious things,

And lulled by the darkness

Into an empty sleep

As we forgot to dream.

How can I connect

The boy from yesterday

With the corpse before me?

The grinning portrait

And the thought,

That one dwindling spool of thread

In which daylight was burned,

Time was spent…

If only I knew

What poison was,

Then perhaps I could have sensed

The way in which

You craved death.