Winter Garden

Image uploaded from iOS
I'm becoming an overgrown garden of lingering emotions
One year my family kept the
Christmas lights up until
July
They weren’t even white, which made it not “worse” per se,
But more, obvious.
Looking back on it, I like to think it was ½ part out of rebellious romance,
½ part a laziness for suburban neighborhood decorum , ½ part pure forgetfulness, ½ part
a distant longing for a time that was not,
Though mostly I know it was more than ½ part of the type of convenience you crave at
55
I think that was too many parts to a whole,
But I still don’t understand why adding extra vanilla to the batter does not make it
sweeter,
My grandmother likes to remind me that baking is an exact science and I remind her I am 
a student of history.
Of flashbacks, and readings scribbled to me on the first page of his favorite book on my 
shelf
I covered that row up with Is this It? but felt the question was too proper
and anyway I bought the English vinyl and I’ll never have an ass like that
I swapped it with Room on Fire and felt comforted by the fact that at least 20 year old 
existential angst produced some really great art
Or maybe just tunes to quell Tuesdays
The built up emotion that comes from always living just 40 minutes from
A city, the city,
Are there even Christmas lights in New York,
Not in Frank O’Hara’s New York, I mean real New York,
Although I bet he’d have loved the idea of Christmas in July

Natalie Brennan

Editor-in-Chief, What the F Magazine


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