Sunday, April 19, 2009

"The Year of Held Breath"

It was the year of tufted grasses. It was the year of questions. It was the year of fog over the vineyard. The year you started falling. A damaged year. It was the year of sails in the distance and knots here. It was the year without refuge. It was the year of bog orchids, early runoff, unaccountable swelling. It was the year of sweet peppers in August and patience, a year without diagnosis. It was the year of storms on both sides of the window, of your pain. It was a year without skin. A year of testing. It came without warning or instructions. It was the year of swallows caked under the bridge, of difficulty swallowing. It was the year of small foxes, white pelicans, one brown pelican far from its coast. Outside, the war deepened but we couldn't turn our faces to it. It was a year of drought. It was a year without syntax or punctuation. It was the year of disarray. It was the year of mountains looking away, seeming to look away.

~Veronica Patterson

(the year that will be.)

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