DEAR RORSCHACH,
A pit of dead horses entombs my vision
with their tongues lolling in lifeless precision.
one mother mare nuzzles the cold neck
of her fallen foal. The stench
of decaying horse flesh consumes smoke clouds, a
perpetual constriction in the air. The putrefaction
of surviving dries out my nose. You can still smell
the slightest hint of gas, it leaks everywhere.
Pull me out. I have been here too long already.
Sometimes you are a lark blessing my palms,
and sometimes you are nothing but wraith.
I do not know why the ground feels soft
as dough or why I can only crawl instead of run
but I turn my head away. I want to be saved.
Can’t you see I’m in war? There are no parades;
I find a way out, but none of them
can carry me. Maybe this soul is too heavy
to manage. But your hands are not calloused
are they? They’ve never held anything other than
roses full of fire. The clouds are raining flames
but I dig through barren soil for clovers. For
another way out. My free hand clasps
a collection of empty stems.
ABOUT VERONICA
Veronica Jarboe is the author of the MicroChap collection “i tell the finches” with Rinky Dink Press, which earned her a Pushcart nomination. She is also the author of “Sweethearts and Sorrows,” and “Dragon Girl,” with Bottlecap Press. Some of her other published works can be seen in Re-Side Magazine, Yours Poetically, Moss Puppy Magazine, The Broken Spine, and Ethel, among others. Veronica is currently an undergraduate English Major at California State University, Sacramento. Additionally, she is a prose and poetry reader for Moss Puppy Magazine. Veronica can be found on Instagram @veronicajarboe and Twitter @VJarboe.