& the other night you held a tree outside my apartment & you said it was perhaps the most
huggable tree ever & my phone said it was an apple tree but i didn’t see any apples & tonight i am holding the same tree & it really is a good tree & it is raining & it has been raining since you left & fallen white petals stain my feet & earlier you took a picture of me at sunset & called me handsome & when you held the tree i talked about things like time and death and past lives & you laughed of course you would talk about these things & yes you held the tree & i said you hold this tree more than you hold me & and you said no well maybe but i’ll hold you tonight & later in bed when i asked to hold your hand you said no i think i need space right now but i will hold you in the morning & to be fair you did but i really needed to be held then & i really need to be held now & there are days when i feel i am running out of time & i am scared of procedures after the avalanche of my last & so yes i am afraid i will die young & i am afraid it will be soon & i am afraid that i am racing toward an inevitable & one that yoga and castor oil can’t fix & it is supposed to be sunny on the day of the procedure this week but in my head it will still be raining & i need more time because i still want a lotus from this mud & i’m sorry;
i am afraid every picture of me is a picture of sunset.
j.t. andrews (he/him) is a poet from Texas, but he is unfortunately not a cowboy. He currently lives in Colorado, where he spends perhaps too much time painting. His poems have found homes in perhappened, mutiny!, and elsewhere.