I have found enlightenment.
My body was never found
because I absconded
to the muskeg
further north
than the last road.
I am not rotting in the muck
in tea lake.
Ironically, perhaps,
enlightenment
lurks in places
unlit.
Thoreau is here,
we discuss
our proud sons,
Lawrence Harris and Mahatma Ghandi.
If you wonder
how I got this letter
through, if my
situation is as I say;
suffice it to remark
that here we don’t
need any radio, laser,
telegraph, phone,
smoke signal,
or even seanceer.
We live in your minds,
which wrote this.
Bionote
Trevor Cunnington is a queer and neurodivergent writer/artist who lives in Toronto on Treaty 13 land. He has published a short story in The Rivanna Review. As well, he has published poems in 10 different literary journals including Last Leaves, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Radon, and Grey Sparrow. His photography and visual art has appeared in five different magazines, including the cover of Cerasus. You can find him on Bluesky @trevorcunning.bsky.social, or on instagram @trevorcunnington.
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