crushed _ postcards




_
done for the poem >

619
Kate Greenstreet

Unexpected meetings occur in a forest,
on a mountain,
by the sea.

I shook hands with the men.

I’m disappearing.

Something
in me
is disappearing.

So. Is that a yes?

Some of us have taken off our wigs.
The immense, the colossal weight
of our hope. Sex is part of it.
Do you think I’m pretty?

[The future will present itself with unimaginable
ruthlessness. But we can guess.]

_


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