The Age of Forgetting by Amber Flora Thomas

This happens with the rapture too.
Leaving your Birkenstocks and
brown sweater waiting at the chair
with a cold cup of coffee. A gift
of peacock feathers nodding in
a mason jar by the window. Served up

by science as brain atrophy. Shrapnel
misting cranial stars. Arias in oblivion
sending you into a remote outback
of lippy frostings and creams smeared
on spoons. Tripping until you tripped
into the white rabbit’s downy belly fluff.

The rooms sucked away like cellophane
caramels and fizzy root beer pop. At first,
great-great grandmother Wickliffe and
our Cherokee in Tennessee appeared
as snapshots. Your newspaper route
in 1955. The stories you had to deny

undressed by a cloud front. Your
disappearance like motion trapped
in a marble; the finite air bubbles
cruising that cosmos probably
breath. Little god raising your drunk,
smoked-out white flag at my entire life.


Date: 2016

By: Amber Flora Thomas (19??- )


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