Woods

Photo of Arlo Rowen-Herzog

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​I wish to grow dumber,
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
until the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will not know who loves me,
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember,
nothing to forgive,
I will stumble into the juice of the berry,
the shag of bark,
I will be dense and happy as fur.

    - Noelle Oxenhandler

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