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     The Literary Review


Page 32

                                                                                                                                                                           Swpe left        Sipe down


Apologies To My Future Self

My sincerest condolences
for the late nights to come. The 2AMs of glitter and tears
dripping from my eyelashes, the nights I will trick you
into believing you know what love is.

I truly regret
the scars you will find if you peel
back the skin. They are ugly and leave a seam, though
I pray the maps carved from mistakes
will guide you through the velvet night.

I’m so sorry
for the wasted days that will be blinded by sun and smoke.
Perhaps you won’t remember them;
            my mind dizzy with lands of leaves thick like tongues,
            soil that has never known the touch of human feet.

My dear, I apologize
for this melancholy country you bear upon your shoulders.
How the mountains must dig into your back,
how the oceans let their sorrows
trickle down your ears.

Please love, I beg, don’t let the waters drown you.
Let the world roll away, it will float like a fat buoy.
Swim to the island, I know it’s there.
I can see it from here.

  Kimbra Lauren__


Postcards To Her Past Self
    after Catherine Pierce

1.
Go see England. He’s not worth it.

2.
Find repose in the mountains. You will find yourself climbing down the wrong side of
the hill, a backpack heavy with oranges, a diary, a camera you have no business
bringing and two dogs tied to your hip. You’ll make it through, just keep walking.

3.
Read the books assigned all the way through. I know no one ever does, someday
you’ll be happy you did. Don’t take the spiders outside, they’ll just come back in.

4.
Mud is the answer. Smear mud on your face with your sister at midnight. Squish mud
in between your toes when you are swallowed in sadness. Bake a mud pie with the
daughter you will have a cool day in May. Mud will keep you young.

5.
Never play house with a boy that blames the shingles for the storm.

6.
Remember that year in Boulder. You must never forget the black marley that covered
the stage floor. It is imperative you remember the way the wrinkles in the corner of
your mother’s eyes deepened as she watched you dance. Push past the nights you
couldn’t sleep because the crickets were so loud.

  Kimbra Lauren __









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© Patricia Carragon: Forget America