Yes, I was caught born, stumbling, wasn’t meant
to gain the weight of my own feat, own toes
were pigeoned, tumbling off the edge in throws
toward what? to whom? & where again? The spent
change clattered rust onto the floor, sky
might compass passed me
to autumn, I would stop counting each dent.
Does where I ran rank more important? Not
the strides I’d made between? Where’s hope when all
my color drains, my purpose crazed & set.
My situation rests on stirrups
my candled soul: “She is one to forget.”
Found Poem Source: McGuire, Seanan. Half-Off Ragnarok. DAW Books, Inc., 2014. pp. 293-305.
Madeleine Corley (she/her) is a poet by internal monologue and loves the color of melancholy. Her work has been featured in DARK MARROW, Moonchild Magazine, The Elixir Mag, and Anti-Heroin Chic. She currently serves as the Poetry Co-Editor for Barren Magazine. When she is not eating clementines by the Liffey, she is tweeting @madelinksi or posting on her website: wrotemadeleine.com.