Climates Change

You’re acting weird again. You’re a season, a season in reverse: fall, fall. You’re a season that got high on fossil fuels and now you’re dying, you’re smiling, you’re dying. And that’s the truth. When I saw you last month you weren’t the same. Your eyes dripped like big round pores, bored holes in your head. You looked at me with the most hollow kind of face, a sagged smile, all wrinkled like the molding face of a jack-o-lantern. You were crimped neatly at the corners with staples of your diet: oil, oil, oxygen. And I don’t say that you were high because you looked so sad that day I couldn’t imagine you anywhere but underwater. You used to know how to swim; you would paddle by me with a fin on each finger, laughing at my heavy heart. But now when I think of you in the ocean I think of you drowning. I think of me drowning. And we’re sinking deeper all the time, deeper, deeper. You pull on my arm and I yank you up, but it’s no use, no use. And you shout something, but then your mouth closes, shutting the water in. You go limp. You close your eyes and let out a sigh, crystallized into pearls of breath. Last breath. And I keep on screaming. I pull you and I kick and I can’t do both at the same time, not really. And I don’t want to let go. And I let go.


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