365 Poems – 189 The Back Of Beyond (Rough First Draft)

The Back Of Beyond

When the moon looked

through the window

as you cleaned the knife

for the seventh night in a row,

 

you said I cannot eat your

despair, it will not digest.

It will sit in my stomach

and fester.

 

You left this morning,

when the ground was white

and wet, and when I tried

to get out of bed to follow you,

the floor was a cold I thought

I’d grown used to.

 

I said the back of beyond would

be best, away from the noise

of everyone else.

 

The hills empty of animals

who’ve caught the scent

of my illness.

 

I to listen as the hills lose

their children, the elk,

the bear, the wolf.

 

I untangle my hair,

and let the fearless wind

grab fistfuls.

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