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Lessons From Permaculture - Tureygua Inaru

I didn’t know what time it was or where you were. There was no dramatic empty room, no lone clock on the wall, ticking in tandem with my broken heart.


I was at the dining room table. I guess I fell asleep doing homework. I scrambled for my glasses; I get scared when I can’t see. Is it 5am or 5pm? My smartphone says 5pm. I am a ghost of the modern age. I am an infant encircled by ravenous wolves. I am nothing but pure potential, hugged by a baby blue blanket. I cannot see whether the wolves are my friends. I laugh. I smile. They do not eat me.


I look down at my phone one more time. I thought you would call. I was told not to have faith in man, but I’m still dreaming.


No. I chuck my phone into the pond, it makes a plop in the murky, beautiful water, then starts the process of becoming nothing. I realize its decomposition is beautiful, just like mine is. If I die, let my body fall, used into the earth. Let the earth embrace me. Let me become carbon, then archaea, and nematode. Let me know what an arthropod knows. Let me swim in the salty oceans of the prehistoric Cambrian. Take me away Protozoa. I am so sad.


I loved you.

 

Tureygua Inaru is a writer from Central Florida. Her poems have appeared in Zoetic Press, Poets' Choice, and other places.

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