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Ocean I am walking on the same gravel road you found me hitchhiking on two leap years ago. Amnesia robbed me of myself before your car had stopped. You kissed me on the cheek and whispered that my real name was Ocean. “What other name could there be for someone anonymous and everywhere at the same time?” In the small of your back, I found my voice. In your locks of hair, every truth I have ever known was inhaled. I haven’t seen you since you drove alone across the Mississippi River, leaving me asleep under a quilt of Gingko leaves. With your husband's last name, you became untraceable. Today I carry the weight of a new life passed an empty lemonade stand advertised in crayon. Behind it, the field where you and I made love is now overgrown with Queen Anne’s Lace. I break the unopened blooms stems to remember your milk. As I do, the cottonwood seeds brush past me like holocaust ash, dissolving my memory into dandelion petals as they fall to the ground. My eyes close- I leave my birth certificate in the fireplace, my wallet in the garbage disposal, my shoes in the garden behind my house. I am waiting to breath the unsettled dust from your approaching car, waiting for you to find me, waiting to know my real name. |
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