N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 2

Sarah Jeanne Peters

skinflint

She who cannot

remember her

last love will never

knock on the neighbors’

in the small hours (indifferent to the large)

in an endless sub-zero winter

with purity & pink “somethings” to light the way

to borrow stamps

for letters that will disappear,

& disappearing manuscripts

& blow away in billows of smoke like burning journals

the carrion-hungry crows

won’t let you forget your own drives

Huh?

Blessed are the forgetful

& the forgotten

the run

in the fabric

is never touched

the pull never becoming

part of a pattern

of pulls