written by: Genie Nakano
A depression sets in every October. This is the month my father died and when he passed a crater greater than the world and universe beyond scraped the pit of my stomach.
With the onset of the tenth month—warm shots of whiskey before bedtime and meditation in the morning, help me make it through the nights.
Somewhere in Seattle maple leaves glisten in gold and red but here in my shell, a deep void
the sun left
and took the summer
only the rain
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