An Open Letter To The Month of September

By Nix Carlson

September / I asked you to be soft / float gently into mornings steeped in chai and smoke / flannels wrapped around mugs / of cinnamon coffee / reciting books of poetry while suns fold their light into winter / I don’t believe the stars have any say in the minds of lovers / but I etched my horoscope onto my ribs anyway / we all agreed / you’d stay gentle / and I know you are just time / marching around the sun / millennia after millennia / so I can’t blame you / but if I don’t / I have to blame the man / who left before the cider was poured / blaming him means accepting this crawlspace of abandonment / so you see / I must blame you / I clung to sexless march / but even I can’t carry it through 305 days / so it gave way to April’s midnight confessions / and bled through lusty May / lending hope to June’s body / I mistook for safety / I don’t remember what transpired these past two months / I suppose nights of drunk / driving / dialing / disappearing / but now you’re here / the tree outside my window / already shaped like death’s hand / choking spring from my lungs / I was promised slow mornings / something that didn’t ache to wake into / you have delivered nothing but / emotional hangovers / and blood-bright moons

By Nix Carlson