“In Which Sunset Drinks Me Under the Table Again” by Rachel Dunkel
Sunset, my apologies, but I cannot be bothered to visit tonight as I am busy vomiting up last night’s macabre radiance into the toilet— a sunset reflection in its own right.
I saw a snap of you in between hurls that made me stop for a minute to consider alternate itineraries— a parent shown a video of their child’s missed recital.
Sunset, if I had a trombone for every time this has happened, I’d be a Craigslist hero—
if I had a Bible for every sundry Sunday eve, I’d fill every Hilton’s drawers for free.
Love, I promise that next time— and there will be a next time— I will take my sorry guts into the yard, stare up into your knowing glow, throw up everything that’s ever made me miss brilliance and see my reddened eyes in you.
You are not how I want to die, but live, blossoming indecent pink onto every lawn in shameful view of neighbor’s children, always.
You never die, but live, and at this point I don’t know how you afford it.
I’m just trying to keep up.
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Rachel Dunkel called us from Asheville, NC.
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