Poetry: Selections from Autumn Crane

Dead People's Clothes II 

 

I unstitch the scent entangled in your clothes, 

And embroider it into mine

I drape myself with your ghost, sticky and wet, 

Like it’s made out of sadness and regret

For all the things we didn’t say 

And all the time that slipped away. 

If I could, I’d dig up your bones and swap them with my own,

I’d carve them like ivory to make pendants and stones 

To wrap around my throat and embed into my skin

I’d take the leftover fibers of your decay and crochet them into t-shirts, 

Misshapen and full of holes to match my grief ridden soul.

Demons 

I saw my demons reflected in your eyes

You held out your soul to me, dripping and wet

Dipped in poppy seeds and soaked in amphetamines, 

Mine in ink and salted, black grief

Please help me wash it clean, hollowed eyes scream. 

But there is nothing I can do, 

For someone so far gone as you.

Vulture 

I wish I was a vulture

To be comfortable, 

Confident in death 

Enough to devour it.

Instead I hide it

In pockets in my mind

Leaving it to find

At inconvenient times

Bringing me to my knees

And letting it 

Devour me

The Things I Don't Say//Thanks

Oh the things people will say,

When a life is taken away.

My condolences, I’m sorry for your loss

You’re so strong, and they’d want you to go on.

All total cliches 

What they don’t know, what I don’t say

Is that I’m not strong 

I don’t brave each day with a plastic smile on my face

I hide away in the corners of my brain

Seeking solace in the wet folds of familiar pain,

Neuropathways turn to graves 

A memorial of their face

An altar for their name

My memories of them doomed, 

To forever be the same

No new ones we will ever create

Habits that we made, die with them too

And I’m forced to forge something new

Forced to be strong, forced to go on

The only alternative is to pass the pain along

To someone else undeserving of it too

So I curl up in my brainwaves, 

Hoping the memories will keep me safe, 

I don’t think they can, from beyond the grave.

These are the things I really want to say, 

But I glue on the fake smile and barely manage a thanks.

Autumn Crane is a born and raised south Texas native. She studied psychology at Texas A&M University-San Antonio and says that the human experience is her favorite muse when writing poetry. In addition to working outdoors, she enjoys spending her time hiking and enjoying nature as well as reading and writing poetry and creative non-fiction. Her debut poetry collective tentatively titled “Dead People’s Clothes” is a current work in progress, but you can find more of her work on Instagram @autumnbrookecrane