The winter breeds a fear in me
of snowy days, of dying trees.
Last year we sat by the lake,
our legs hunched up into huts
for the frozen ground.
And as the snow fell around
us I heard you whisper something
about the summer.
'The Summer bore us,
wreathed in flames
to my house and back again.
We talked a lot about
sadness with whiskey
on our breath and flowers
wrapping through my hair.
Do you remember?'
I remember whiskey.
For a while we sat
and watched the ducks
rear their heads from the ice
and glance about for Spring.
They anticipate their next fuck.
You spoke again
but this time not loud enough
for me to hear:
a sound killed by the icy air.
I pulled you near
and I spoke in chokes.
'It is Winter now
and I can't remember
how to be happy.'
I did not add:
'But soon the sun will rise
and life will cascade
through my eyes.'
The Summer brings a warmth to me,
of sunlit days, of living trees.
This album by Kenyan electronic producer rPH and poet Kins of Spade reflects on the impact of religion in their lives and society. Bandcamp New & Notable May 12, 2023
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