A Prose Poem by Anon ymous
I want you to forget you love me. Forget how trees scallop the sky, the way the horizon shuns the stars. I want you to bury the words you gave to me. The ones that belong to the soft rush of wind through pussy willows. Pack away the quiet adjectives you use to describe the sound of morning; forget it all. I’ll write you from another continent, bare and thirsty words; underfed and worthless words. I’ll write of broken promises; made up prayers from lost lovers. I’ll tell you about paper wings, ashes; a wet moon awash on the shore; the mutations Monsanto caused the young ones, how they will never reach out with arms, feel with fingers, know the flexibility of hands.