After The Cyclone She Stopped Talking

The words and wood the ruins tumbling through her future. The wind swept away her voice and she ran off with the world. I listened. I tried, promise, to accompany her. Tried to translate every silence but Iím human. ___________ she said and ___________. Translation: Donít ever leave me and All the others are boring. My creativity was endless. My loneliness. The love I had created by creating language. ___________ she said. And just like that I was significant. The years I had waited my entire being a bench. _______________. And when her eyes looked past me. The angels I imagined descending even felt like feather. _______________. I need you. I spun sickness and I spun necessity. ____________________. If I could not join her, I would wait. The savior. Who was it I was really trying to save. But I believed the narrative. I waited and I excused while she would love and love and love. ________________. I translated and translated. I will always return to you. ________________. And I spun yes and I spun forever. With each translation the romance of legend. And I spun and spun and spun. Until the rotation of fantasy flung me into a solitude I had always predicted but was never willing to accept. How much harder it was, in the end, knowing I had created nothing but an even greater longing for what would never come. ___________________________________________.


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EA Ramey is co-poetry editor for DIAGRAM and has poems forthcoming from or recently appearing in Fence, Zone 3, Barrow Street, Sixth Finch, Sugar House Review, Pleiades, Birdfeast, and elsewhere.