You can keep going, but it will only get darker.

hotter, midday, scorched ground
still air to whipping wind in minutes
summers used to be cool here
mother on the phone, telling you the news
at first, she cried when it got worse
her new voice, unmoving

You can keep going, but it will only get darker.

now, moonlighting as the type of girl
who sits on her porch, looks up at the sky, and thinks
when did there get to be so much to think about?
so little room for ephemeral dreams
like, what if there are fairies in the holly trees?

You can keep going, but it will only get darker.

darker, a blot of ink when you hold down a pen
pigment, juice, intensity, soaked through every fiber
darker, like mixing all the paint, like every snow cone flavor
darker, the funeral service you knew was coming

but darker, the friend you used to swing with on the playground
now sitting in your chair-swing outside
knowing every piece of you, impossibly entwined
listening for all it’s worth
in this house you rent
in this world you built

Keep going.

Note: I had a dream that I was walking through my mom’s hometown, and the lights just kept dimming, no sun, no streetlights, just this gradual sense of dark that intensified as we walked. It was almost silent even though we were downtown. People kept handing us notes that I thought were either warnings or invitations to something, but we couldn’t read them because the light was fading so fast. Right before I woke up, I heard a voice behind us say, “You can keep going, but it will only get darker,” and it’s been playing in my head since.