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Brooke Waggoner

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Brooke Waggoner

Cherry-Pick

Can you hear it?
The soft sound of aging
The watchtower growing watch-less
The cautious losing conscience

In that summer's eve, in the dryness of the mountain,
Beams of sunshine whispered at my back -
became my captain
So I became a slave
To the one that uplifts and left me cartwheeling

Do you know it?
Do you know the meek ways we have bathing?
The must for hibernating?
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The need for book-casing?

I feel i'm getting better,
I feel it in my bones
Inside my body and underneath my clothes

I'm holding out for something
I know nothing of what it is,
and i'm waist-deep in the middle of a mess -
Like a splinter that's been lodged inside
Burying all the cold from seasons past.