Gardening Song
by Holly Lalena Day

    The wind blows through me, cold,
    leaves and dead branches crackling impatiently
    wanting to go, just fall to the ground
    end this charade we sardonically call "Life"

    I grow a little lighter every day, hair and skin
    dried blossoms and dead leaves
    snag and cling to objects around the house
    my body slowly cut down by erosion, age

    Time passes by so unintrusively, easy to remember
    thinking you'll always be green, always be whole
    and one day you wake up, your leaves withered and brown, the bedsheets
    covered with white hair,
    dry earth.






Copyright 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.