Up From Seeds
Bury me down by the old oak tree
where we wore summer like a second skin
sour grass tucked in our lips like cigarettes.
We whispered our promises in acorn caps:
that we would stay like this forever–
but children are liars, and the truth is
the years fall away like leaves.
down on the ground, they decay
and make the soil rich for new things.
Let my body of memories make me new.
Let all that is past begin again.
where we wore summer like a second skin
sour grass tucked in our lips like cigarettes.
We whispered our promises in acorn caps:
that we would stay like this forever–
but children are liars, and the truth is
the years fall away like leaves.
down on the ground, they decay
and make the soil rich for new things.
Let my body of memories make me new.
Let all that is past begin again.
Zenaida Macroura
I used to think
the mourning dove
was a morning dove
and relish the sorrow in its call.
We greet the day with a dirge,
minor keys and melancholy.
Each sunrise is a little death
I am less of who I was
and more of who I am.
Oh woeful dove,
show me the meaning of sadness
so I might know when I feel joy
the mourning dove
was a morning dove
and relish the sorrow in its call.
We greet the day with a dirge,
minor keys and melancholy.
Each sunrise is a little death
I am less of who I was
and more of who I am.
Oh woeful dove,
show me the meaning of sadness
so I might know when I feel joy
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Megan Jauregui EcclesMegan Jauregui Eccles lives in the foothills of San Diego and is a writer and professor. When she’s not rehoming rattlesnakes, she plays Dungeons and Dragons with her five sons and hatches a variety of poultry.
Website // meganeccles.com TikTok // @meganjaurenguieccles Instagram // @meganjaurenguieccles Twitter // @lilnightmusic |