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Lethe

by Tanya Grae


For all the fish, the little blessings that I missed,
maybe I should just thank you. We can leave
the dress behind that didn’t fit or fly to a new city
& wear the metropolis as our skin. Things happen,
how one love becomes another. In seasons, maybe
it’s okay to remember how I lived multitudes of lives.
Where does oblivion begin? Years I tried to forget?
And be reborn? Not as a naiad. No. I want feathers
& dark. Let me be the hunter. According to Virgil,
I’m almost ready. But if long to stay, I should know
how I got here. How to—Have I been drinking
your water so long I’ve erased whole passages?
Maybe I’ll forget. I forget everything these days.

 

Tanya Grae is a PhD candidate at Florida State University. Her poems have appeared in The Los Angeles ReviewNew SouthSugar House ReviewApalachee Review, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Little Wekiva River (Five Oaks Press), is due out late this summer. (7/2016)


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