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Literature Text
The last reflection I saw that mattered had us staggering mountains and valleys among golden plains,
pressing together skin that glowed from swallowed sun, with feathered wings wrapping fleeting comfort
before goodbyes caught in our throats.
I never looked at our faces
...I was too scared.
Instead, the vision we created, abstract art sans hard lines, flowed through me like wanderlust for you.
My fingertips ached for the remnants of time to once again catalog the contours that felt like some kind of home,
but instead I kissed you and felt dizzy under your skies, feeling the subtle tugs of being pushed away
because goodbyes aren't meant to be held on to.
You were never any good at them anyway.
--
2/12/2012
Copyright © Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
pressing together skin that glowed from swallowed sun, with feathered wings wrapping fleeting comfort
before goodbyes caught in our throats.
I never looked at our faces
...I was too scared.
Instead, the vision we created, abstract art sans hard lines, flowed through me like wanderlust for you.
My fingertips ached for the remnants of time to once again catalog the contours that felt like some kind of home,
but instead I kissed you and felt dizzy under your skies, feeling the subtle tugs of being pushed away
because goodbyes aren't meant to be held on to.
You were never any good at them anyway.
--
2/12/2012
Copyright © Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
Grandma
“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”
I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the worl
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Breathlessly exquisite.