[4] HOW TO FORGET: A REVISION ON HISTORY
[i]
i've seen the world before prophets knew
the world is round. no, there isn't a cliff
at the end of the sea, a parallel end to a
beginning where gravity hangs loose and
you'll drift into the galaxy.
[ii]
if i could, i'd tell them they've been living
under a lie. that even from pluto,
the earth is round.
[iii]
pluto exists.
[iv]
but they're dead, and so i swallow my
beliefs, keeping them for my own
pleasure.
[v]
i write.
[vi]
i know now that paper can tell lies
without the need to speak.
unless, of course,
they have mouths.
[vii]
the earth, in its short lifespan
among other planets and stars,
is round.
[viii]
i can't believe they're not here
to know this.
YOU ARE READING
Witherland
PoetryAgain: precarious. When blood remains, I see the world tripping over the edge of the sword, red and forgotten. They drop, drop, drop-- balance. And we fall endlessly. [a poetry series by alice © 2017]
