Strawberry Moon

 Strawberry Moon


Things I know.

I have a thin wallet that doesn’t stick out from my sweatpants pocket.

You’re what makes me rich.

I’m musical, so I listen to you with ear akimbo, enchanted, playing with your rhythm.

A blackened heart from lightning strikes, but you keep me thundering.

You caught my eye with a hook, like the springing green spirit of a swaying tree, bouncing, crazy in a black hoodie and jeans.

You’re a calm wind, a reprieve from the heat. You cool me from the palms of my hands to the bottoms of my feet. My fingers get lost waving through your sandy brown hair in your ascent, driving by an empty lot where we ate pizza more than once. You’re in on this inside joke. Unfortunately, it’s not wildly funny.

There was that time in the Fall I wanted to wrap my arms around your sweet and salty breath and hold it up so high forever and never let you down when we were on an air mattress that leaked through the night and caved in while we held each other. That was funny and wildly loving.

I never felt like I deserved you, my lonely orbit of a lone satellite.

You’re more than a moon to me. You get me through the distractions. You relax my muscles when I can’t get rid of the shakes. Your lips go from pale pink to neon hot without applying lipstick before the racing hearts and red faces. We can be noisy as oceans. And with dedication, I’ll wait for your glow, for it melts my fears away in the dark and keeps me brave. And, for that, I’d burn for you in the tropical breath of a wild beast.

It’s nightmares when you’re not around. And then, the cold comes ripping blue from the sky.

Through no fault of your own, you’ve become the last link to the person I was. No, I don’t know why. The color drains out of what I see when I’m not in touch with you, and time flows too quickly when I’m with you.

My broken heart is all that I can give.

I’m flawed.

You deserve more, and it’s gloomy in the overcast dusk approaching the end of twilight.

You’ve seen all my faces.

It’s been a dry and deadly August.

I am thinking about killing myself.

I can promise you one thing. I’m a man of my word. But I’d instead be killed by you. Bleed me white. And hang me up for everyone to see—no grief for vanity.

There is and never will be a love like yours.

If all relationships end in tragedy, you’re my tragedy.

I want to be the one to pull back your veil.


The End


Mitchell Flanagan

Mitchell Flanagan is an artist, writer, and musician from Newburgh, New York. His poems appeared in The Chronogram in August 2010 and December 2011. His work appeared in Ariel Chart in April 2020 and April and December 2021. In addition, he's working on a collection of short stories, novels, and poetry books. His band is Cold Heaven

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