Homage To My Thoughts

I keep 
the back of my mind 
six feet under. 

Sometimes I forget 
to bring a shovel--
my nails are still caked in the mud 

of my mom’s old flower pots 
left in the garage in Kansas, 

of the soft freckles 
on your cheeks and nose--

I have to check the pulse 
on the needles 
of the fir trees 
and I see the outline of the stars
glowing
on the ceiling;

the church on First Street 
still chokes in the moonlight;

I offer my soul to the sky 
when it comes down 
to cry on my shoulder; 

the nights have passed 
when it rained so hard 
I had puddles in my shoes 

the feathers 
from the pillows 
lie in ruins on the battlements; 

I press my hands in prayer 
and whisper for that pink sunset 
to never leave 

and I bury the love 
I kept tucked between my arms, 
my heart, 
and the coves of my ribcage.

​Author

Callan Latham lives in Ohio. Her work has appeared in Hot Dish Magazine and Proceedings from the Document Academy, and she is currently an intern at Kent State University’s Wick Poetry Center. ​