#the months series

i.

June calls me my father’s daughter.

We sit across from each other

at the dining room table

and do not

utter a

word.

ii.

Oh, we are so alike, we are so

uncomfortable,

with ourselves, with the world, with each other.

There is a reason we both

love my mother.

My father is Cassandra and I am all disbelief and eye-rolls.

iii.

But this June I will love like my mother.

I will listen like empty skies,

speak even if it is with the creak of wooden oars,

I will be a love

that causes ripples,

not one that stokes your tsunamis.

i.

May calls me away from you,

at least for five days a week back to

the city where I’m working 9 ‘til 5.

You’re back under your mother’s thumb,

sleeping through the days, just trying to survive.

ii.

I’m not allowed through your doorway.

Lately I’ve been thinking that if this was a fairy story,

I could ride up on a white horse and set you free.

We could ride off into the sunset.

You could be with me.

iii.

But those stories weren’t written about the real world,

and never about two girls.

Still, I don’t believe May can be all tragic,

not when you fall into my arms every Friday evening and

these weekends are the closest things we have to magic.