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.