Untitled #9

I stopped playing. Instead,
I lit the tree on fire.

Shoelaces tied with hair
too long to find the lost texts.

And he said, “I’ll play you a song,
tonight only” and in your dreams
of wrappers and Styrofoam you’ll play,
but only for a minute.

I dreamt that I could play again:
song lists scrawled in black ink
and mixed tapes unraveling.

And you stopped calling
two years and seven months ago.

Ann Blackburn is a poet. Her work has previously appeared in Maudlin House, Crack the Spine, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere. She is currently working on her manuscript. Her website can be found at https://www.annblackburnpoetry.com.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s