THE INHERITANCE
A NEW POEM
by Dolan Morgan
| Stop counting other people’s money. You’re pulling from the discards. We had to liquidate your holdings to ensure your future comfort. It’s someone else’s child. It changed. We are ideal candidates. We’re not related by blood and you love me. Astronauts love golf. You know, I’ve been dreaming about a suitcase. Everything’s perfect. We’re supposed to keep it dim, I don’t know why. Ice blue, white top. Don’t pretend like it’s not scary. We’ve tried. I’m not allowed to talk about it. It’s a convention. This was all supposed to be ours. The smell. Time to put something else in that mouth. People do that. Do I have to go around and write my name on all the things I want? We were halfway to the hospital before I noticed I was in my nightie. The doctors say it’s not serious. |
Dolan Morgan lives and writes in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
The Believer, March 2012
http://www.believermag.com/issues/201203/?read=poem_morgan
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