Breakup poem without you in it

by Abner Dormiendo

Last week a forsythia and tomorrow, the sun.
Today that forsythia under a wheel,
a bird on the ground, and tomorrow,
the sun. Remember the deer, the seed, the man
on the asphalt and tomorrow, the sun.
Then the message to the anxious lover, a letter
to a fatherless son, the bomb on the cheek
of a ruin, the ruin on the chest of a city,
the city on the heart of a war-torn land
and the land on the face of a spinning earth
and tomorrow, the sun. The moon and the tide
with the flood and the drowning to bring in
the bodies and the bodies with the flies
with its wings and the wings with its song
and the song and the drone and tomorrow
the sun. Then the water levels on the knees
of a continent minus an elephant minus the tusks
and a man minus his job minus a woman minus
a child and the town minus its children minus childhood
minus knowledge minus sense and tomorrow, the sun.
Then the sun minus the sun and tomorrow, no more sun.
Just me and the forsythia and the absence of forsythia
and the absence of sun and tomorrow—

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Day 20: Write a poem that states the things you know. Well, some of it I know is happening, but I tried to play with the prompt a little bit by doing a palinode of some sorts.

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