You remembered me in a white dress, but the dress was all flowers
blooming, the dress was violets. I’m not here to convince you. I won’t take
it personally if you decide not to come back. A misspelling on Instagram
reads: “brighter then the sun.” Sometimes the mundane things are the
most helpful. A bigger stage and better equipment. Trajectories and lines
of flight. More silence. I’m not here to convince you. I can’t help you
learn the right thing to say. Everything you’ll say is going to be the wrong
thing to say. Should we enter the garden after breaking, the fruits of the
garden will be spilled. I’m not here to convince you. My job is to try and
show you everything, what we are and what we are not. Start from the
point at which we left off—out of love. Out of love, I do this. Out of love,
I will tell you where it lies. The sound of wind outside and cheap hotel
sheets stirring. The Two Rivers trail waits for us in the morning. I’m not
here to convince you. This is the return you make to me, as if it were real.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Isabelle Shepherd is a poet from West Virginia. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in DIAGRAM, Ninth Letter, Powder Keg, Sixth Finch, and elsewhere. She is an MFA candidate at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. More of her work and upcoming reading dates can be found on www.isabelleshepherd.com.