You haunt my future and sear my soul, with ominous unpleasant doings.

I don’t want to acknowledge you

But I fail to Ignore you

Do I dig in and stay for the revolution?

Or do I close my eyes and simply salt my wounds?

The page opens to snow on a field: boot holed month, black hour/ the bottle in your coat half vodka half winter light./ To what and to whom does one say yes?

Excerpt from Elegy – Carolyn Forche