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  • Writer's pictureLover's Eye Press

A Poem by Thomas Mixon


Could I love you in Fairbanks? Would you cherish cut lilacs

if I sent them through the mail? Would they live

long enough to hold their scent, to tempt

you back home, along the road

you left by, hours ago?

Do they even have flowers in Fairbanks

that smell the way the petals underneath the power lines

you said you wouldn’t miss, do? I miss you,

love. Just after the last rain

you stood akimbo in the yard, closed your eyes

and didn’t see the dandelion’s seeds stuck to your feet.

You said so long

to someone else’s sky, to someone else’s garden rake.

Could I clear the vines,

without it meaning something final,

something inclement, or mourned?


Thomas Mixon has poetry and fiction in At Length, On Spec, The Broadkill Review, and elsewhere

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