It’s Prosery night at the dVerse Poets Pub!

PROSERY IS a piece of short prose that includes a line from a poem. I will give you the line, and then you incorporate it into your prose piece. Your prose can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction. YOU CAN NOT WRITE A POEM for this prompt. AND, your prose should be no longer than 144 words, sans title. It does not have to be exactly 144 words. But it can be no longer than 144 words. 

YOU MUST USE THE LINE I GIVE YOU BELOW, IN THE BODY OF YOUR PROSE. You may change the punctuation and capitalization, but you are not allowed to insert any words within the line itself. You can add words at the beginning and/or at the end of the line; but the line itself must remain intact.

I’ve chosen Louise Gluck’s Afterward. The first line of the poem is “Reading what I have just written, I now believe.” 

Have you ever wondered what happens to unclaimed love? Does it float around aimlessly like a soul in search of a body? Like an unwanted pet whose owners left him behind when they moved away?

I wonder.

Yet, the energy has to go somewhere, but I would think it is only of use to the one it is intended.

Reading what I have just written, I now believe that love truly can be wasted. 

Not only that but perhaps everyone was right about you, about us, in that it was simply not meant to be. You already found your one and only.

And it isn’t me.

It never will be.

But how does one reason with the heart? How does one stop the love?

Noble in its narcissism; love is incapable of even imagining it is unwanted.

And so it goes.

And goes.

12 thoughts

  1. “incapable of even imagining it is unwanted.”
    Yeah, I knew her.
    I tried to be loving while I let her go.Then I just tried to be nice. Even when she forced me into being um, less than nice while trying to free myself, she could NOT get the message.
    Excellent work.


  2. Unclaimed love- I see an image of a Bronte character, a companion to an irascible old lady, yearning for someone to love them. I think unclaimed love is a raisin or prune, seared and shriveled by neglect.


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