An Undead Prose Poem

You put a buttercup to
my chin and ask me if I
like butter.

I laugh and you ask me to
marry you. I can’t.
I tell you right then
about the handsome man
out in the woods that day,
what we did.

In the breeze, the bitter smell
of dandelions bite the air.
I wipe tears from your eyes
but they keep falling.

They fall like the axe did
When I swung it into
the handsome man’s heart,
breaking it as he broke mine.
That fox, that wolf, that predator.

I watch the buttercup fall from
your hand, and what I feel must
have been what Lucifer felt
as he fell from grace.

I want to say I’m sorry as you
walk away. But instead, I pull
a broken arrow into my bow
and aim where I know best.

About Jodi MacArthur

I write omnivorous fiction.
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8 Responses to An Undead Prose Poem

  1. Jodi MacArthur says:

    I needed to write tonight, but so tired I’m unable to focus on my present writing tasks. So I wrote up this. I think it’s a prose poem, but I can’t tell. Maybe it isn’t even a poem? All critiques welcome.

  2. Tim Keeton says:

    Oh wow! Remind me never to do anything remotely like breaking your heart (or turning my back on you…)

    Yes, I would consider this a prose poem, and a good one, too.

    Rhyme (or not) on!

    • Jodi MacArthur says:

      Oh Tim, I would never hack, whack err… swing at you. With your back turned. Just keep those mushroom pics coming. You’ll be just fine. 😉 HA. ( I freak myself out)

  3. So much twisted pain here. I agree with Tim – a fine prose poem indeed, Jodi.
    Tell me – what did you and this handsome man do in the woods, again? 😉

    • Jodi MacArthur says:

      If I DID do something with that handsome man in the woods. That would have meant I did something ELSE to that handsome man in the woods, which would make me a…


      Thanks, Margo.

  4. Wicked. Way more poem than prose, it has such a rhythm to it with the stanza breaks, and the ‘buttercup’ repetition is great. Desperately want to know what happened to him, in the woods, but terrified. Actually, it’s the not knowing that makes this such horror. Supreme.

  5. Oh how the mighty are fallen. Jodi, you are a well, always a delight to read, you stem the black tide with your new iambs and shut the door against the wind.

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