A dream that leads to something real that I made up
I had a dream last night that today was National Prose Poetry Day. I just looked it up. Today is not National Prose Poetry Day. In fact, surprise surprise, there is no such thing as National Prose Poetry Day. That does not deter me. I, nobody Lily Hoang, declare today National Prose Poetry Day. In celebration, here is a prose poem by Mary Miller, published in Rose Metal Press’s awesome collection of flash fiction chapbooks, They Could No Longer Contain Themselves.
Her heart swells like someone turned a faucet on. It is enormous. A fast-moving cloud of blackbirds dissipates into the trees. Or are they bats? They’re at the zoo. It is the same as the bowling alley or the skating rink only there are animals. They sky looks like snow. The thirty-year-old woman doesn’t know what the twenty-two-year-old girl was like. She only knows this: the girl spent a lot of time in the mirror but she never saw herself. The boy asks if she wants a Coke, she says she doesn’t, he gets one and she drinks most of it. They watch a couple of rhinos on a mound of dirt, just standing there. It looks boring, she says. It must be boring to be a rhinoceros. He agrees. She says the same thing about the spider monkeys and the elephants and the giraffes and he agrees, but at the manatees he says: you’re boring. They marry, live like old people.
So, HTML Giant, happy National Prose Poetry Day! I hope you’ll celebrate with me, somehow. We are, after all, always looking for a party, right?