I lock my sadness in a storage box with a bedsheet that knows, too well, the architecture of my body. I hold the chill in my lungs a little longer, exhale at the boarded up house on the edge of town, a light left on like a Yule flame, nasturtium bookmark tucked into the loam of a silent night. This is how you survive yourself: you gather your aches and rebuild them into a bonfire, let the warmth hold you like soil hugs the roots of a grave under haunted prairie grass. Sometimes it’s scary, but you can douse long drives and longer silences in starlight. You can bury a memory in the perfect shade of walnut and dirt and wait for spring. Dawn always cracks like eggs on cast iron. Your reflection always smiles before you do.

Prompts used (tags are the poets’ IG handles):

@angelealowes - “sometimes it’s scary, but it’s still just you and me” @imandq + @ml.mecham + laur_enough - “rebuilding the bonfire” @arcanapoetrypress - “wildflower bookmarks” - from edging by Claire Evans ( @thegrammarwench ) @octavia.poetry - “yule flame” @lipstick.stains_ - “a bedsheet that knows the architecture of my body” @kaytpoems - “hold the chill in your lungs a little longer” @nicoledalcourtwrites - “silent night” @imlaurengreen - “locking sadness in a storage box” @tangledflxwers - “the boarded up house at the edge of town” + “the prairie grass is haunted” @amykaypoetry - “a light left on” @libbyjenner.poetry - “doused in starlight” + “gathering what has fallen” @shield.of.armour - “walnut and dirt, the perfect shade” @theconstantpoet - “long drives & longer silences” @wildgreens - November Daily Words - “roots” @kaitquinnpoetry - “October holds me like soil hugs a grave”