Decades unattended,
and the hallways are still dark.
Nostalgia has accrued rust,
as if all the fruits were made
allergic to the womb.
When you flee and taste iron
in the gummy bits of your mouth.
On days nothing works, radiator
blown in the middle of winter
& all your friends are gone.

The door to your childhood room
is open, and nothing has been taken,
as you are still there.
The calendar is past due,
but months feels all the same,
and silence is not anymore
an absence, but a reminder
that you are lost.

…

Brandon Shane is an alum of California State University, Long Beach. He’s pursuing an MFA while working as a writing instructor and substitute teacher. You can see his work in the Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Messy Misfits, Mister Magazine, Remington Review, Discretionary Love, among others.