Content warning:
Today I wondered what happens to a wish
after it goes unfulfilled to the box of wishes
waiting for time to stop its body from breathing
until it is a plume of dirt that draws no interest
how humble it becomes after beliefs on it
burn up like something contorting onto itself, for
example, orange rinds kept at kitchen window sill
how it accepts partialities done on its face like skies
that keep darkness of clouds and nights in silence
once on losing my wristwatch I had wished I
never possessed it. To which mother answered
the pain of loss can’t be submerged in pond of
back time. If there is a way to erase touches of
those we loved. We could’ve called memory a verb
that melted to a nothing. Smoke rising devoted
to anything but wishes that deny being opened
Editors: Poetry Department.
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