It’s been 84 years, but yeah, I do still write poetry sometimes. It’s the beginning of NaNoWriMo once again, we’ll see what happens this year. I’m trying not to put any pressure on myself and enjoy it!today I talk to the dead. I pry my eyes open inward and remember the soil they went back to. I breathe in the prickly blue sky, weep with willows, play hide and seek with a meandering sun. I know the end will come, but not today. I clench my fists. I refuse to cry. they loved me and I love them, for all they’ve given me, for all they’ve taken from me. today I tell the dead about the ones who remain and how we don’t pray exactly, but sometimes I’ll leave my window open for a bit too long, till the clouds invite themselves in. I yell at them because their beauty offends me. the air in my lungs stings like your hand on mine decades ago. today I talk to the dead and as long as I do, they live.