Literary Vegan

I spent one summer at the piano, in the dark - only a single slant of light could ever get in through that low window, leaning yellow dust motes.  I watered the keys, dripping my sad heart through my fingers and grew plants from the shadow lines - a black and white garden; minor enchantments in a basement room. And then I fainted. I am the leaves That first need the sun - Feet in the soil, Face to the sky To entwine the songs  Of daisies and thorns. C. LJ Ireton 2024

I am silver and slowing under my own silence. Curses run so cold under blood, To the soul  and they hate sunlight - It's why shame burns. I was always drawn to the ice  never daunted by the sea-cold. I can not take your warm hand, Rose,  your conscience is a gold  reminder of my mistakes - Black cloud stains everything I touch. And this one pain we are not sharing. I am silver, And slowing.  You should know and you would hate it - loving me like the sun I shy away from.   (Inspired by Burning Crowns ) LJ Ireton c. 2024

The rain slants again Over the field -  a fast and scattered drop. The blackbirds are ready; they chase each pattered place  and hop, hop for the worms - black downturned faces dotted on pale green mounds. I was frowning at the sky  when I prayed for dry ground this morning. I did not think of them - Waiting for water, Watchful, yellow-rimmed eyes Looking in the same direction  As mine, Wings tucked in.  C. LJ Ireton 2024

The forest was swollen with water.  Branches stirred swamped bases And moorhens made homes in brown bramble Puddles surrounded with mud. But I didn't expect the sky to fall, To lie in the clearing And see clouds drift across the floor - Suddenly so close me. C. LJ Ireton 2024

Standing still by the glass I run through a thousand nightmares And on the floor I stretch as far as the stars, then race back down to tell you about them. I traverse distances that do or don't exist In a few silent breaths And some of them are beautiful,  when I am not scared.   I journey Mad or wanted - By going nowhere.  C. LJ Ireton 2024

Four months in And more of the same, Silt white rain runs Like frustration  On cheeks. Sullen at the sky, I still open the window - In low whistles and water hit consonants  The Earth is recounting its day And wants to know Who's listening.  C. LJ Ireton 2024 

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. We'd been out in the sun, but I moved into the room,   saying nothing. I lay down and they followed, flopped on carpets and sheets - the three of us feline, asleep in the light and shadows of silence.  C. LJ Ireton 2024

It wasn't the equinox,  the clocks, the dew on the grass instead of the frost - But the ache of my arms in still water, m y spirit yawning  with my bones s ubmerged And curving - That woke me, let me feel again, under the lightening sky.  C. LJ Ireton 2024

I released twilight wildflower seeds, tiny, tiny, white,   speckled into the blackest brown soil, damp and winter-devoid of life. My hands were dark earth from the stirring as I sat back on my heels. The seeds were not yet broken - And they had become the night sky. C. LJ Ireton 2024