< Issue 7 >
And You Said You Knew Me When
by Thomas Bacher
I died and then was dead. The casket
of a promise, penultimate proverbs buried
under foot. My bones were divining rods.
Sometimes I reawakened, and
would ask you to probe me.
You rejected my rebirth
looking at wedding pictures. You were tired
of roping stray calves. Took fence-mending
like night classes. Thought affection was a hands
free conversation
on blacktop without median
lines and crossing guards. Our rusted Firebird
sitting in the mud for sale. My pedestrian
promises were silent walks. Your down
home omens raining under a gray sky.
I never could fall asleep without the shades
closed around your whole body.
Our final pews were filled with mercurial incense,
or some similar bouquet. My biographer would
love to tell sacred stories about you.
And You Said You Knew Me When
by Thomas Bacher
I died and then was dead. The casket
of a promise, penultimate proverbs buried
under foot. My bones were divining rods.
Sometimes I reawakened, and
would ask you to probe me.
You rejected my rebirth
looking at wedding pictures. You were tired
of roping stray calves. Took fence-mending
like night classes. Thought affection was a hands
free conversation
on blacktop without median
lines and crossing guards. Our rusted Firebird
sitting in the mud for sale. My pedestrian
promises were silent walks. Your down
home omens raining under a gray sky.
I never could fall asleep without the shades
closed around your whole body.
Our final pews were filled with mercurial incense,
or some similar bouquet. My biographer would
love to tell sacred stories about you.
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