To An Unknown

“I ...went and sat with the sellers of strange gods, who by reason of their craft are abominated. When I told them what I had done, each of them gave me a god and prayed me to leave them.”
-Oscar Wilde, "The Fisherman and His Soul" from _Complete Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde_

One god was small and round, his metal back cool against my fingers. Another was wrapped in fur and had to be slung on my hip. The third god was blown from glass and laid on my cheek by a woman wrapped in white. This woman, covered in white, flicked her eyelashes and looked into my face. Just when I thought I could hold no more, another god rested in my arms, placed there by a hand so large I thought I saw trees. This hand laid on me a flat god which could only be worn, not carried, an expansive god threaded by lumber fingers. This god clung to me from head to toe, and wrapped my waist in creases. From that place I went out, each of my gods adorning my body. Careful not to disturb them, I went out, peering through the gauze of my last god.

**
Okay, so Dwayne said I need to put an explanation to this post.;-) Said it's a little too cryptic. A few months ago I thought I was writing a series of prose poems, but I wasn't. I finally learned what a prose poem was this last week in residency. I learned that some of the defining characteristics of a prose poem are:
1) The sentence works as a unit rather than the line. Therefore, no line breaks or stanzas.
2) The writing is muscular and adheres to the same poetic devices as poetry.
3) Usually begins from an absurd premise.
4) Is metaphor.