One day I woke up and all the similes were gone, by Ashleigh Youngby gabeatkinson
One day I woke up and all the similes were gone
Because the lemons are green, that lone yellow one is a clown.
Because the story is unwritten, it raises its hackles when I try
to extract it from a pair of pants on the washing line.
Because the light still shines, a bird sounds from the tree
but the tree won’t let the bird go; it is too cold.
Because my mother worked for months on the garden, the squirrels
sprint along the fence and drop efficiently into the garden
those f---ing squirrels,
because Nature no longer understands the point of a garden.
Because a woman runs out of our house in an apron
shrieking, shooing her arms off her body.
Because I wake up, nothing can ever be described again.
There is no wind picking up and no water running,
all the elements have lost their limbs;
the tame sheep that I had raised from birth
headbutts me when I crouch in the paddock,
because it no longer understands the point of me, or it does,
and prefers to be free:
My lungs go into reverse and I mushroom out in the grass.
An airplane shaves strips from the whiskerous sky.
I don’t recognise it any more, and I cry.
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