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





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



Blessed are the forgetful

& the forgotten


the run

in the fabric

is never touched


the pull never becoming

part of a pattern

of pulls