Prose Poem: La Petit Mort

You’ve abandoned me my friend, you—my religion—in my crisis, my greatest time of need. My peril of spirit and body slipping away from the world with all that it used to mean. Without you, I am nothing, nothing, no joy, no quake, no death, no rebirth, no release. You do not reel me in, do not free me. You do not hold me close, only to drop me over your precipice. You, the lover I could always count on never to turn away so long as I had some batteries, a few working fingers. You, the one who was there no matter how bad I behaved, no matter how much I hated myself— sometimes the more I hated myself. No matter how much I loved you, quivered for you, begged for your sweet embrace—You and your little man in the boat—simply paddled away.

by Michelle Beltano Curtis

All Rights Reserved. “La Petit Mort” may not be reprinted without permission.

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