Ghost of Earth ©

Daughter of End

November 1, 2016 Poems, Word, Writing

Or another day
when I’m lying
belly up
between the river
and the pines,
ring around the sun
I say,
I can’t.

I cannot win you over.

You’ll stay
right there
alight
and stubborn
like you have since
long before our virus
crept up from the sea
to the land.

You stay there.
Gloating.

Mourning
this miscarriage.

We will forgive
your
reflexive abortion
in the end.

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