In the beginning,
Winter stood over me,
a god with iron breath,
cold as fuck,
asking whether I would kneel
or survive.
January split my ribs open
and called it birth.
Blood remembered motion.
The year accepted me.
February came robed in red,
a god who does not bargain.
It taught me
who to fucking love
by refusing to leave.
Devotion, it said,
is not softness.
It is staying.
March arrived drunk on thaw,
a liar god
cracking ice with laughter.
It promised release
and delivered fracture.
I broke.
The earth approved.
Nothing living
stays whole.
April,
a green god
with dirt in her mouth,
asked what the fuck blooms
after survival.
She answered herself
with mouths of color,
petals
reckless as prayer.
May crowned the body.
A sun god,
bare-handed,
casting light
in full fucking color,
turning skin into hymn,
desire into sacrament.
June lingered
like a lover
who learns your true name
and keeps saying it.
The light refused to leave.
I let it stay.
Some gods are meant
to be believed.
July arrived loud.
A god crowned in heat,
certain of itself,
taking the sky
personally.
It taught me this:
some joy burns,
some power is reckless,
and sometimes survival
is standing in the blaze
and not stepping back.
Then came Heat.
August,
a tyrant god
heavy on the chest.
Beauty with weight.
Fire without mercy.
I whispered fuck
and the god listened.
Even gods bruise
what they love.
September returned the breath.
A gentler deity,
cool hands,
open palms.
Fuck summer, I said.
The god smiled.
Tenderness was restored
to the altar.
October spoke from shadow.
A bone god,
leaf-crowned,
knowing
what the fuck
the dark knows.
It stripped the world carefully,
teaching
that undressing
is a kind of truth.
November was gravity.
A god of falling,
not breaking,
falling.
Everything released itself
back to the ground
that remembers us.
December arrived last,
quiet as snow,
merciful as sleep.
A god who does not demand.
Only gathers.
A quiet fucking mercy,
placed like a hand
over the heart
of the year.
The gods closed their circle.
The seasons loosened
their grip.
I was not ended.
I was held.
And the world,
having taken me apart,
let me remain.
I found my soul and peace with God, when I lost my wife.
Al, I’m glad you found peace…Not everyone does. I’m sorry for your loss, my friend. Sending hugs your way and a smile…
Another terrific and very relatable piece.
You my dear are very talented.
🙏
Powerfully penned, CG. Another excellent write with some really clever wordplay my friend. Nicely done per usual. Appreciate you.
Damian
Chère G.,
Beautiful how circular it is.
And open.
You lay your hand on your heart and say:
This is it, see you round the next time.
Love it a lot.
Warm regards, Gus