Prophet

BY PATRICK BLAGRAVE.

---

Once, I stepped into the water

I left my phone, my wallet,
my shoes on a ledge
& let the river take over
what I could not manage: living
without knowing how
it would end.

What is a prophet but a person
who does not want the future?

All the possibilities we pretended
I had & I just wanted to know
how it would end. I taught myself
all the endings:

Now the lights flicker
in the house
you left me

Now a sudden crack 
in the arctic

Now it’s the first
week of the year & snowing
& the rent costs $370
plus the heat
in a January that is likely
to be the warmest on record again

Now it’s thirty years
later: I can’t remember
the snow or cinnamon rolls
made with my wife
in the morning or the cat
becoming less of a kitten

Now I am headless
a body stretched across
what was a river
the river that was once
my god

What is a prophet but a person
who sees their god evaporating? 

& then mindless:
I get home from an office
where I write reports
that keep me alive
& I have no wants left

I wanted to write prophecies
These are just reports​

---

Patrick Blagrave is a poet from Philadelphia. He is on the editorial board of The Painted Bride Quarterly and is the founder and editor of Prolit, a literary magazine about class, work, and money. His work can be found in Bedfellows, Apiary, and Mad House magazines. You can keep up with him on Twitter  @prosepoems.