Refuse
Stones and bones hide memories: A Prose Poem Prompt revisited
demography is destiny — isn’t that what they say?
well, if it was indeed her story she could have stuck to it, or perhaps just let it all go — while the rage of machinery (and its enablers) dissipated into the atmosphere like fading static from a station falling out of range.
her woods — forested landscapes, she and her sisters played in as children — now form the command center of the clear cut
her family home — where her tired parents rested after so many years of that ridiculously grinding commute
down on the upside of the banks — of the pristine river where she fished with her Dad — adjacent to where the effluent now leaks
— these places
— marked by bits of ash and stone
— marked by buried stories and bone
these were the places she refused to die.
boogie on as she did, as we all did with friends — under strobes of blindingly artificial light
— and dark corners where climate activists called doomsday preppers out to get sucked
— where dirty walls and ceilings cursed out at purpose and meaning — to get fucked
— these places
— marked by broken commerce and unkempt perceptions of consent
—…
