Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Of living untouched

by Sarah Marchant

Tie the ribbons in your hair.
Smuggle the smoke; we’re not
going anywhere now. Your
fish will get cancer, its tummy
filled with tobacco and other fish,
and I will take purple ink to
a book I borrowed from the library.

Yes, they all need to know my
favorite parts in my second-favorite
color. Yes, your lofty language and
general snobbery mean nothing to me.

Polish bottles and line them up
on your windowsill. The sunset
got delayed by traffic, somber and
still. Too-tall trees will swallow
all the beauty whole, colors and
bird wings caught in their branches,
and I will sing in the absence
like the continents never broke.

Yes, they all need to hear my
voice like a recurring nightmare,
and no, my heart isn’t interested in
being a clay vessel anymore.

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