In other words—
is your mouth full of flowers?
& did you put them there?
Here is a gun.
Do what you must with it, but first—
tell someone something
you wish they’d told you.
lie down on your friend’s kitchen floor
& wait.
Wake up.
The sun is here—
not in the morning sky,
but just outside your door.
It is waiting to greet you
as a friend, but everything
is on fire now. That’s how it is.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
God wrote a poem for you
& sent me here to read it,
but it burned up along the way.
May I mark your forehead with the ashes?
Delilah McCrea(she/her) is a trans-anarchist poet. She loves the NBA and knows the lyrics to every Saintseneca song. Her work can be found in Vagabond City, Gordon Square Review, Petrichor, Night Coffee Lit, Hobart After Dark and on her website https://dtmccrea.wordpress.com/
