To be completely forgotten there must be earth and fingernails. Knotted alleys must funnel warm winds at dusk, surprising passers-by, knocking dogs sideways. I must be husked then flung as compost, welcomed back to the earth as mulch, wholly. To be completely forgotten there must be miniature doors in trees, rocks spiralled dark as dreams, paths overgrown in lush greens crawling with bramble claws. There must be unknown fungi nipped by night animals, weeds pulled out by their roots and plaited as dens for small memories. There must be earth and fingernails in the forest; all these things remembered, then I can be completely forgotten.
Marie lives near fields with her family and writes in the shed. She has a Creative Writing MA from Northumbria University and a love of unnecessary stationery. Marie has poetry/flash featured in Ink Sweat and Tears, The Cannon’s Mouth and Cool Rock Repository, and forthcoming in Sledgehammer, Five Minutes, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Birdseed, Free Flash Fiction and Catatonic Daughters. She is on Twitter @jamsaucer