A year without harvest

When I first met your parents,

your mother told me

‘he works like a farmer that boy,

he will treat you right,

breathe life into you

when you want to lie there,

wilting on the sidewalk’.


I saw the love in her eyes,

took on that challenge,

I will love him more.

I should not be so reckless,

I learned that in coming months.

The way we danced

was not how we are meant to,

fast and sharp,

you threw me around.

It felt like I was flying

and then,

it didn’t.


I saw your mother in the street,

she looked nervous,

scared of facing what had been loosed

upon my world.

I took her aside,

I told your mother;

‘your son is like a farmer,

he will treat you like a crop,

work you and work you,

flood you with his thoughts.

He will have you

dry-heaving on the floor,

desperate to give just to please him.

Your son is like a farmer’

I said,

‘he will leave you fallow

and then move on’

-Alex W. (First Draft for NaPoWriMo 28/30)


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