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I held a funeral for a future I had always thought was coming, and buried the world's face as yet. The silence then turned me so tiny the only way forward was to dream downward to an early day on earth before a single heart beat. The atmosphere filled with an abiding, cataclysmic knowing- that if everything could be born, every thing could be born. Love promises no less. But a future is gone now. All we are is this. Our way could be to fall toward the medicine seeded right inside the untamable, fertile grief remaking things. - Brooke McNamara I want to put down what the mountain has awakened. My mouthful of grass. My curious tale. I want to stand still but find myself moved patch by patch. There's a bleat in my throat. Words fail me here. Can you understand? I sink to my knees tired or not. I now know the ragweed from the goldenrod, and the blinding beauty of green. Don't you see? I am shedding my skins. I am a paper hive, a wolf-spider, the creeping ivy, the ache of a birch, a heifer, a doe. I have fallen from my dream of progress: the clear-cut glass, the potted and balconied tree, the lemon-waxed wood over a marbled pillar, into my own nocturne. The lullabies I had forgotten. How could I know what slept inside? What would rend my fantasies to cud and up from this belly's wet straw-strewn field- these soundings. - Vievee Francis
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