Poem by Jon Corelis
I hope this letter finds your well.
I must tell you shovel, sparkplug, grass, rice.
The meteor you sent me crumbled
because I forgot to pay my dream tax.
Amanda, Amanda, your flesh is soaked with bread.
I saw you standing barefoot with your babies in a hamper,
and I thought of you so hard I cut my hand
on a piece of candy. Please ask Father if he's seen my voice.
The world gets flatter: it's sticky in between.
Your hips are violet cycles. They make me ashamed of the clock.
Your eyes make whatever they look at count.
You just put me on the pins of wonder.
Amanda, everything is soiled except your heart.
I'm flying as hard as I can, but the air gives out.
The wistful starlings have forgotten but are not forgotten.
Please ask Mother to make me a choice.
Give little sister as many kisses as there are daisies,
and tell little brother not to hurt himself on the dandelions.
I must tell you cloud, stoplight, window, flute.
I must tell you asphalt, armature, prairie, sky.
Amanda, I've got to lean on this to say it but
the words don't matter, they can only mean.
The best revenge is not to care. Reach. Reach. Reach.
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