Poetry Friday REDUX!!!

I didn't realize it was Dylan Day!

Here, in honor, is a prosey poem I wrote about a year ago.

**


Dear Bob Dylan,

The me I was at every time before this time was yours. No longer.

The me of smoke and mirrors for long stretches. The me of down on my knees and night in the cemetery and attic apartments and dreamily, dreamily, thin. The me of my ridiculous then.

I was deathly serious. I was deathly.

Of lying to people and grinning. Of beauty. Of goodness. Of ragged coughs and vegetarian and braids in my hair. Torn fabric and gilt edges. Late nights gone stale by morning. Smoke gone stale. Incense too. Flowering, weeds in a mason jar. Flowering gone stale.

Nostalgia:

I was little—romping. Bears and picnics… I was slightly less small—my skirts above my knees (in pretense). If you’re a travelin… I was older—cars and highways. Nashvilles. Skylines…

But I was still little. Then. I was something!

I miss you. I miss me. I miss us, then. I miss the then.

Murder by nostalgia. Gone stale. Goodbye.