Your ankles get caught under the leaves whilst walking the beloved wood behind neighborhoods you watched grow and crack since you were five years old
Roots wrap themselves around you and whisper that these trees are your home
A new bark-laced suburbia flecked in dying green interrupts a ground of fire …
Awake, humans venture the cooled ground until their feet become those who trample the dead crops too unhealthy to pick
Machines till fields leaving empty veins strewn, reaching out to the sun setting for the year on barren land breathing its last to its dwellers
No longer will bear wander next to deer for slumber gathers in caves in avoidance of the unthawed Earth packed with iced worms burrowed in like prairie dog
Pulled down by summer, clouds ride the lonely plain surrounding the cul-de-sacs in your chest and by the time your legs take themselves back your neighborhood isn’t there anymore and you’re pushing your way out of the snow
By Skyler Reisinger