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