Emergency Exit

By | 3 February 2024

It’s not as if I don’t remember
anything of our werewolf months.
The shipwrecked femur, sticky dark.

Now it’s just some scenery thawing,
and the edges have grown a little wisteria –
bruised foam, some freshwater light.

And in the decades since, I read books
with the word “innocence” in the title.
I can’t remember the last time I blushed,
felt all my arrowed blood, admitted to anything.

You were right to leave.
It takes six trillion years, after all.
The moments in which I’ve caused my life.

This entry was posted in 111: BABY and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.