Evasion by Amelia Browning

Evasion

At four in the morning the wind blew the front door open and slammed it, over and over, against the framed picture of that church on the wall.
I left it swinging,
Walked right through the glass on the floor,
into the dark blurry street.
That was the night I found you
Under a tree coated in star light and rust.

We tumble down a hill.
Our fingers catch tree bark, rough and rigid,
Dewy leaves coating my skin like unrinsed soapsuds.
Shadows loom in the shapes of things you once held tight.
You point at the moon: "Shall we go there and never come back?"
Of course. I'd follow you anywhere.



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Image - Alicia Soltani
https://www.flickr.com/photos/aliciasoltani/
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/

Bio: Amelia Browning is an undergraduate student at Utah State University, a writer, and a youth counselor at a residential treatment facility. She enjoys reading, learning foreign languages, live comedy, and hiking with her 70- pound Lab mix in the mountains surrounding Logan, Utah.

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