it’s october and everything is romantic about the color brown.
hair, eyes, skin,
favorite corduroy jacket.
those grandfather shoes.
it’s october and this is the only month where i’m in the sky and soil
at the same time.
the only month where i break every morning like the dawn.
language disappears into october and all that’s left is me
staring at you
no words, no sounds.
but you don’t understand this.
it’s june, actually. i’m just sentimental.
there’s no language to me, no metrics,
no steel-sounding gears
just wind breezes,
you’ve said a thousand and a thousand times before there is
nothing between us and i know vacancy anywhere.
it’s june, i think...
sunsets and neon open over the highway like wings
and i can’t remember the earth anymore.
REBECCA HERRERA is a strawberry-haired girl born and raised in New York. She received her bachelor’s in Art History and Museum Professions from the Fashion Institute of Technology and has two associate degrees in Visual Arts and English. She has had work featured in Small Leaf Press, Horse Egg Literary, Hecate Magazine, and others. She is currently the managing editor of fifth wheel press and lives in an apartment with her three plants, Orpheus, Eurydice, and Calliope.