Prose poetry

Here are some rough copies of some prose poetry. At this point, these are definitely not my final copies, but I thought I'd post them anyway.

Divine Punishment

After her son died, she wouldn’t take communion, though she sat in the back of the church every Sunday. She refused to approach the altar. She refused to kneel. She refused to let touch her lips the body and blood of an indifferent god. In her mind, well-intentioned, well-worn clichés. Well-intentioned, well-worn, useless. “Everything happens for a reason.” She intentionally held words like these in her mouth, leaving no room for the bread. Or the wine. She pursed her lips and gagged. Every Christmas since then, her house held no evergreen tree. Instead, she chose a colorless day. A brutal, cold, and windy prairie winter day. Alone, far up in the north country, she bent against the wind. She knelt beside the barbed wire fence to retrieve a large tumbleweed. This tumbleweed would stay in the middle of the living room well after the new year. Her protest.


Therapy

“If you are your problem,” the therapist intoned, “then, stop thinking about yourself.”
One – mountains. Think about the mountain. (no, not about how your mother wouldn’t let you go to summer camp) How the mountain holds the forest on its back. The mountain is worn by time. It ages gracefully.
Two – trees. Think about trees. (no, not about what kind you would be) Think about how a flock of birds emerge from the spring branches. You didn’t even know the birds were there. You didn’t recognize them as birds while they were in the tree. But, now aflight, they are not an extension of the branch, they are birds, and there are hundreds of them.
Three – clouds. Think about clouds. (no, not about the dark one hanging over your head) Think about the motion of clouds. The clouds change and move on effortlessly.
Mountains. Trees. Clouds. It’s really very simple. Put yourself in the back of your mind. Keep yourself there.