A Letter

The mountain thinks it’s time

I stomped my stupid feet up

its face. Don’t judge our

relationship. Of the many things

I can’t get used to, living is

the one I mention least when

complaining. That path through

the ferns that bordered the river

has been asking after me. I can’t

say it’s the sniffles, keeps me

away. Partly, it’s poor time

management, partly I forgot

that joy existed. There was a moment,

insulated by fog, all the old

hates quieted, I could’ve believed.


A Yelp Review of Life

3 stars. It was good to be alive, not

as good as we’d hoped or expected.

We supposed that must be our

faults, all evidence to the contrary.

We heard such good things, and some

bad. We did some things, though all

of us ran out pretty early on and struggled

to fill the hours in a way others

respected. A few would’ve liked to feel

the rotting, the being nibbled

away, but that’s probably hind-

sight. For most of it, there wasn’t

too much or too little. It was

just enough. But it would’ve

been nice not to be so stuck

in our heads the whole time.


CL Bledsoe’s latest poetry collection is Trashcans in Love. His latest short story collection is The Shower Fixture Played the Blues. His latest novel is The Funny Thing About… Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his daughter and blogs, with Michael Gushue, at https://medium.com/@howtoeven

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