Forgetting Charm

 

Forgetting Charm

Even your bones remember what you’ve long discarded.

This field of stone grows beyond sight.

In our house the tang of burnt sugars.

You say I love you in four languages I do not speak,
but never in the one I claim.

We light fires with stolen paper.

Douse them with stored rain.

Fragmented memories fill our cupboards.

Did I once know you?

Take these words from me.
Bury them in daylight.

* * *

“Forgetting Charm” was published in The Icarus Anthology in August 2017.

11 thoughts on “Forgetting Charm

  1. This is beautiful:

    “You say I love you in four languages I do not speak,
    but never in the one I claim.

    We light fires with stolen paper.

    Douse them with stored rain.”

    Very nicely done, Robert.

    Liked by 1 person

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