by Doctor Barber

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Springtime, not so many years ago,
we sold most of our belongings and drove South to 512.
Next time I swear, I promise, I won't give my heart to anyone so casually.
I'd imagine them as you.

I am the dead tree that still stands in the front yard of your head.
With a tattoo you engraved of an old brick house where we placed threads of memories you couldn't bring yourself to come dig out.
They resonate through your melodies, then words come out.

Replace your branches with some guitar strings.

Somber winds will rattle through and be the band that backs up you.
Harmonizing nature sounds add orchestration to the songs you write about me.
Still think about me.
Till the wind picks up and a new song chimes through.

You drained me as I drained you
trying to figure out how to live as one in a foreign place.

Forever our story will exist written in pen on all the letters with the photographs we've kept, and I will have always loved you.
If somehow, our love could still exist between these dry roots and the shade you no longer provide to me then celebrate.

I want to celebrate.
Now I think I'd rather celebrate changing with seasons
so long as your leaves change colors too.


released December 7, 2016



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Doctor Barber Salt Lake City, Utah

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