5.1
       

the nest of deer whispers to itself like a lost city // I
have been a lost city // a city called girl // crisscrossed
with broken power lines // with open sewers and floods
// I have been taught to feel but not think // think but
not say // say but not loudly // never more than once //
and you // a city I call home // warm beside the heart's
muddy sea // where our tombstone will say yes // we
were starving // tongueless saints // a true recording of
the myth of our lives

Tweet

Copyright © 2018 Melissa Atkinson Mercer All rights reserved
from ghost exhibit
Glass Poetry Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission