The remnants of the night tend to linger in my clothes;
the scent of liquor won’t leave my vest,
nor will that girl’s perfume, who was trying her best
my favorite shirt still smells of cigarette smoke,
or the drunken breath of the older bloke
the unsynchronised beats of the music failed to entice me
no sweat seeped into my skirt, I didn’t set myself free
nor did I get lost in the ogling man’s eyes,
turning him down was his most unpleasant surprise
I didn’t come close to anyone’s lips,
that reeked of mistakes and unfortunate slips
I went home with a friend, who remained by my side
kissed him good night, let everything else slide
And the following morning, when only memories remain
I can wash out the proof of their existence, though to me, it’s all the same
Because at least I can make all these disappear,
while you, I cannot
you are always right here
in my mind, never to be forgot
BY: Sara TK
The Holler is rural and rustic, so when I first moved here, almost seven years ago now, I first planted roses.
It was an act of faith. Roses are civil, and I wasn’t sure this place was.
Somehow I knew from the very beginning to encase their roots in chicken wire to repel the gophers who turned out to be legion.
This first day of spring, The Holler roses are in wild, exuberant bloom!
At night I hoot in communion with the owls, in the morning I wake up to be greeted by the hawks.
This is the most civil place I have ever lived.
Cheers to you and Happy Spring from The Holler’s Bloominng roses~