New poem: Cultivator

feed.xml

@@ -10,6 +10,35 @@
 		<email>vanevander@mayvaneday.org</email>
 	</author>
 
+	<entry>
+		<title>Cultivator</title>
+		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/cultivator.txt" />
+		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/cultivator.txt</id>
+		<published>2022-05-20</published>
+		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
+<pre>
+We're coming up on the end of the Eschaton, you and I,
+and for almost a year I've planned for next month to die.
+But it's impossible to plan for every contingency.
+What are we to do if May passes and I'm still living?
+
+I've kept this faith secret in me, learned every way to hide
+and still let through a sliver of this lightning kept inside.
+There's so much love you've planted in this garden that's my body
+that perhaps, if I stand still enough, others will see my wings.
+
+In the birds that convened outside my window
+gathered in a flock until they took flight,
+in the blackened tree branches that scraped
+against an ashen gray sky,
+in the first blooms and blossoms
+of my garden in birthing spring:
+if it was good and beautiful, I saw you in everything.
+</pre>
+				</article>]]>
+		</summary>
+	</entry>
+
 	<entry>
 		<title>Tissue Sample</title>
 		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/t/tissue.txt" />
@@ -459,79 +488,4 @@ this won't be our last goodbye.
 		</summary>
 	</entry>
 
-	<entry>
-		<title>In The End Of Everything</title>
-		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/e/end.txt" />
-		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/e/end.txt</id>
-		<published>2022-04-21</published>
-		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
-<pre>
-I stepped outside during work today,
-hoping to take a sip of the clouds,
-because there was nothing else to do
-and inside was boiling,
-stifling,
-all headaches exhumed.
-Dismal sky
-and rain light
-on its way,
-my head cocked, listening
-to the wind, hoping to catch a word from you.
-
-A word, maybe, or a song, or a single note.
-Your voice always
-lifts me up from my lows
-and helps me down from my worst highs.
-And in this wind, I think, I could take flight
-without fear of being caught in a tornado
-or taken to lands foreign and unknown
-because I know
-all roads lead back to you.
-In this wind, in this shower,
-I could easily disappear.
-
-What if I was wrong all along
-and in reality Eris
-yearned for my silence
-and you gave me all my songs?
-Only recently
-having learned to read
-and literature never being your thing?
-Listening to the midnight trees
-scrape against my bedroom window
-the years of my childhood where you I did not know.
-I look back and angel numbers appear everywhere I go
-in everything I've ever done.
-How loud did you scream, Jett?
-How hard did you pound your fists?
-How long did you wait
-to see what I'd retained,
-what slivers of memory still did persist?
-
-The rain pounds harder outside the window,
-and if I'd still been standing on the sidewalk,
-my jacket would've long since been soaked through.
-An absence of birds
-making their curves
-along the canvas of the sky,
-just a not-even-gray as far as possible
-can see the eye.
-What I would give for the workday to be over
-and to be tucked safely in my bed,
-resting in the sturdy-yet-soft arms
-of my lover.
-To know
-tomorrow
-will be brighter,
-kinder,
-holding less harms.
-
-And the tornado comes,
-uninvited,
-and nothing more.
-</pre>
-				</article>]]>
-		</summary>
-	</entry>
-
 </feed>