By Flare



The land was left barren. 

It was a wasteland of our own making. 

I was left naked, bleeding and bruised. 

Violated in ways I never thought possible. 

I gave my heart, soul, my life blood to save the others. 

It wasn’t enough, the air was stolen from their lungs. 

Their bodies and bones lined up in piles ready to go onto the ever-growing pyre. 

I grew so weary the earth welcomed me. 

And I slept.


Lover’s Call 

I was sleeping within the cool dark earth. 

Moss my pillow and the soft grass my blanket.

When I heard your sweet voice from above cry.

“Come back to me, please come back to me.” 

Even with my lichen-filled ears, I could hear the desperation in my lover’s voice. 

It has been a long time since I’ve seen the surface. What will I find there? 

A verdant green land or the desolate wasteland I left behind. 

All I knew was that they were calling to me. 

I started to stir in my earthen bed, wiped the mud from my tear-stained face and began to dig.


At the Surface

My lover’s hand was the first thing I felt when I found the surface. 

Their face was the first thing my eyes saw as they pulled me from my grave. 

They were thinner, gaunt even as if they had been sitting vigil for as long as I had slept. 

When their lips met mine, I could feel the oxygen return to my starving lungs. 

They clutched me to their body not willing to let me go from their side even for a minute. 

The sun warmed our skin as we reveled in each other’s presence. 

The soft grass was once a blanket, now a bed for our lovers’ embrace.


Flare is a 31-year-old gender fluid individual who lives in the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. with their two wonderful partners and three dogs. They are a full-time registered nurse and uses poetry to explore themes of love, depression, disassociation, and returning to oneself after the COVID-19 pandemic.

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