Poetry by Megan E. Freeman

               Morgan Thompson CC



​
I Keep Forgetting        

to remember that death comes slowly
in incremental doses of Norco and Lisinopril

like the slow shift from autumn to winter
with the occasional Indian summer

and the finality of the first hard freeze

catching the last of the chrysanthemums 
in their cracked pots on the top porch step





around every turn

80 miles per hour isn’t 
fast enough to ditch 
the ghosts behind the trees
along the highway

I resist confiding in my 
traveling companion
(seventeen year old brains
don’t need to know 
the roads and ruts
of dead relationships) 

I hold the ghosts 
in my mouth for miles 

part my lips and puff them out 
into the air where 
they’re sucked out the window 
tangling under the tires
bloodied and silken

like Isadora Duncan’s 
scarf

Megan E. Freeman writes poetry and fiction, and her debut poetry collection is Lessons on Sleeping Alone, published by Liquid Light Press. Her poetry has appeared in multiple anthologies and literary journals, and as commissions by the Los Angeles Master Chorale and Ars Nova Singers. Megan lives and writes near Boulder, Colorado. www.meganefreeman.com

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