Erasure
︎︎︎ D.C. Leonhardt
︎ May 18, 2021
Now, more than two years after,
I remove her bookmarks
From Camus
And place them,
Gently,
One by one,
At the start of the book
That I may read it fresh.
One of them,
A blue one,
In cursive,
Says,
“of everything.”
I place it,
Apart from the others,
At the bottom of the page,
But I do not throw it out.
Then,
Another one.
This time, orange:
“to end.”
Of everything (blue) to end (orange).
What does this mean?
Does it mean?
I gather more sticky notes and begin.
“Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure.”
I remove her bookmarks
From Camus
And place them,
Gently,
One by one,
At the start of the book
That I may read it fresh.
One of them,
A blue one,
In cursive,
Says,
“of everything.”
I place it,
Apart from the others,
At the bottom of the page,
But I do not throw it out.
Then,
Another one.
This time, orange:
“to end.”
Of everything (blue) to end (orange).
What does this mean?
Does it mean?
I gather more sticky notes and begin.
“Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure.”
D.C. Leonhardt is a poet who works by day as an automotive technician in a hot rod shop. He holds a BA in Philosophy from the University of Wyoming where he also studied Creative Writing. Previous works have appeared or are forthcoming in Zone 3, Waxing & Waning, Book of Matches, and elsewhere.