Words on the Eaves | River Fujimoto

I always want to say                  something
about the tears that fill my mouth
the nights my mind has spent                 lonely
on the roof
and I can feel the gritty tiles under
me, like scabs
I never talked to the moon or the
stars or the
sky,
the open air had no ears
so I spoke to the roof
we were both covering something,
it never spoke back
we both needed support,
the eaves of the roof and
the gutter pipes fringing them
let my words fall                 ,                 gently
to the ground
morning comes and I pick
the words that were most
fun to watch fall
when night came,
the words would fall again
at some point I stopped talking to the roof,
I tied my words to the eaves
and left that house for good

 


Though she was born in Alaska, River Fujimoto has found herself living in Ohio as of late, where she enjoys writing, cooking, baking, and sometimes sleeping. Typically, she likes to write about the surreal, but at the same time finds that the mundane can be stranger and more otherworldly than anything that could be thought of by human minds (except for maybe anxiety).

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