The Howling Owl
Published in

The Howling Owl

PROSE

Murky Green Bottles

A Prose Poem in Three Snapshots

All I can remember now are the bottles.

Green bottles, that should have been murky, but were surprisingly clear. Even through the murky years, vaporizing tears, and dusty memories.

Memories of the bottles emerged in three distinct snapshots, like little picture postcards searing the meaning

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Paroma Sen

“Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”