Writing in the Dark, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Writing in the Dark
Radiance Angelina Petro


Contrary to popular belief, the pages
in your book of life are not numbered. There are, however,
reckonings, and many parenthetical days. And while the writing
is sometimes Joycean, filled with commas and question marks,
run-on sentences with so many reiterated moments,
it is serviceable and somehow legible
after the fact. There are moths nibbling the previous
chapters, and the abiding wind is always
flipping through the pages losing your place,
so be sure to keep your book in a safe, dry place.
Your propensity for nouns is to be expected,
your verbs, strident and agile, are often also nouns,
and as much as you would like to believe otherwise,
there are no errors—neither to the imagination
or the days when you ignore the margins.
The wolf and the deer running throughout do so
on moral grounds. The horizon is far-minded, time
ephemeral. Don’t even ask about grammar or tenses.
When you go, the world will keep writing
your story. In lieu of this, meander more, study
the pedagogy of caterpillars and butterflies, dabble
in novel things, use as many flourishes
as you want, use inhabited initials at the beginnings
of paragraphs, secretly write under your blanket
at night. You are, after all, heliocentric,
giving just enough light to write in the dark.







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