Make Believe

Our only cover is time
and the thin air of winter.
Become addicted to something
especially the idea
of who you are.
This is necessary make believe.
Do we know the rose is a rose?
That the frost on its hip
is the ash of burning angels?
Unlikely, is the answer
that quietly avoids our loss.
Our only cover is time
and from the garden we never left.
We only paint our eyes
with the blood of our birth

and wrap our faces in cellophane.

Matthew D. Allen, originally from Brookings, Oregon, now lives in Portland where he spends much of his time working with and climbing city trees. Find more of his work at zigward.com

 

Willawaw Journal

Share
Published by
Willawaw Journal

Recent Posts

Notes from the Editor

Dear Reader, Who knew that a can-can dancer from the posters of Toulouse Lautrec would…

1 month ago

Rick Adang

Eternal Return A crocus from the rotting flesh of a hedgehog, placed with the pansies…

1 month ago

Shawn Aveningo-Sanders

Full Moon at Montmartre Claudette’s a can-can girl high-kickin’ it under the red windmill. She…

1 month ago

Frank Babcock

In the Light of Peace --painting by Bruce King of the Oneida Nation The travelers…

1 month ago

Louise Cary Barden

A Quad of Golden Shovels Internal Conversation at the beginning of Winter Wet and beautiful…

1 month ago