Eva Collins : Photographs and Writing


Autumn in Summer

Autumn in Summer

I wake to find
a drop of blood
on my sheets
and no trace of you.

I rush to your place.
Bricks radiating the day
warm my face
but your front door
is a cold back.

Your blinds are up yet I can not see in.

I leave notes
and pray like a Jew at the Wailing Wall.

The notes fall and mix with swirling leaves
this autumn in summer.

I scratch your name
on the verandah post
and lick it, tattooing my tongue.

I smell the fragrance of your skin then realize it's mine
washed with the same soap.

Footsteps approach.

I crouch in the bushes.

Even the cacti have shrivelled.

No one appears.

What of our children not yet born?

Is remembering imagining?

My bed is crumpled a snake's shed skin.

Eva Collins