seasons' funeral

hope

spring comes

summer goes

fall comes

winter goes

hope

they go

never go

leave

stay

it feels uncomfortable

to sit somewhere in between

inhaling air that feels in between

warm, hot, cool, cold

are we sending away one guest

or greeting another?

im unsure if i should

stand in front of a spinning washing machine

push open a closet door, slip away coats from hangers

cut my hair short

say welcome?

goodbye?

my throat makes a growling sound

when im in a room, too hot

scratchy trench coat around the shoulders

my teeth shiver

when im outside, too cold

goosebump patterns carpeted along bare arms

i stare at the clock,

waiting for the door to knock

season staggers in a little too early

drifts in a little too late

i complain every time

but really, im glad they came

because i can feel it flowing

time in air

air in time

because without

everything feels still

like a manmade place or a truman show

but then i would zone out

since i dont know whats manmade and whats not

since seasons are fading

since the colorful spectrum between red and blue

vagues, vagues,

to the center, a clear distinction

since i see things changing

since the smell fades, of spring and summer and fall and winter

since everything i fell in love with leaves me

says goodbye when i didnt even get to say i love you

or even tell them, im here, im here

i would blush

because cotton quilt will spin in the laundry

because coat will be zipped in the suitcase

because my hair will grow, then snip

because when they arrive again i will treat them as new guests

not remembering their faces nor their perfumes

that i loved them

that i changed them

pushed their backs, pulled their arms to leave or stay

and complain again

of how early or late they came

never cry for their disappearance

unrealizing their death

the twenty four seasons

down to twenty

sixteen

twelve

four

two

zero

still complaining

turning my head to a broken clock

when are they coming?