poetry by j matthew waters

rhetorically speaking

this is sick I heard her say
but truth be told
she could be talking
about anything

anything for you
I quickly exclaimed
tipping a cap
I wasn’t wearing

maybe I’m just having
a bad dream
maybe this isn’t happening
[she’s repeatedly saying using
arms and hands extensively]

or maybe [I quietly interrupt]
everything’s happening
for reasons unexplainable

indifferent to my reminder
she settled into a position
somewhere between iceland
and the netherlands
memoing and addressing
one postcard after another

we’re the lucky ones
I went on to say
my mind slowly powering down

but she would hear none of it
and just like that she was
off again into another world

august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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