Silence… Not growing or abating Is it possible to handle it Finality is in my name every time I speak it If I look down at the hole I’ll see it’s taller than I Can I beg them to make it shallower Can I be closer to the sky Can it be my last wish Before the silence reaches me and all I ever was… an indentation on the crust
In the evergreen where the branches bend their weight to perfectly shield the cove I lay
My back and body perfectly molded to fit the bed of leaves below My fingers pick at one and as it crumbles in my hand it falls down my nape
The speckled sun on each one My mouth blowing Here is the quiet of my hiding space
The body of my host is small but when they stand at an angle I become larger than life.
On this day of the dead we shadows are no longer the afterthought. We are the brain.
We have agency. We climb rooftop balconies. We glide over oceans and collapse under canyons. We swivel about but one thing constrains us.
Our humans never gave us wings.
I touch it. Grazing it back and forth with my thumb. It’s a line. Abrupt and slightly distracting. In the dark I can mistake it for a line of muscle. It’s a shadow rather than a real thing. It’s a line rather than an indentation.
If I close my eyes I can imagine a babe. A few days old. Pink with brand newness. Smaller than my stomach it was cut on. I can not hear me cry because I don’t think I did. I can see me in my mothers arms and my dad’s concerned face.
What I wish never to see is me as my mother. Holding my own daughter in the same way. With the same line across her stomach and the same look on my husband’s face. What I want and what god wants… is hopefully one in the same.
But when I dance at night. Freshly bathed and smelling sweet. It’s a shining wave that touches me.
Iv’e only ever seen it contained. Once while driving. Many a times sitting. Cooking too.
The strange thing is It’s so present It’s so known Yet is it even here?
If you look at it for a while This weightless thing You begin to see its lack of shape Lack of structure and support
Peoples fingers go through it People’s lives are consumed by it Yet every time I light a candle It’s only the candle that’s really there
I’ve been burned by heat Drowned with snow But when it comes to fire… It’s something I never hope to know
“In the end, I did it to myself.” Is surely everyone’s fear. This isn’t a poem but I’ll write. On the way back from a 7pm class… dim lights from the bus illuminate my showered too long ago hair. It’s tied though, in a French braid. Enough to make it look like I tried something with it that morning. Which in truth, I did. I wove my fingers tirelessly until my arms ached. I did it so silently that I could hear the air conditioning hum uninterrupted.
I raise my bag to my chest taking extra care it touches no other soul. I stare at my palms, the floor, the shoes of the man across from me. Anywhere else but his face. People on either side are preoccupied with whoever just popped back into their life on their glowing phones. Do I want that? The popping? I know I want something adjacent to it. Like the music in my ear. Like theology podcasts. Like staring at the setting sun from a large window at the front of the bus. Catching glimpses of my reflection in the driver’s mirror. I make my way to my dorm. I slump on my bed and watch tv wishing that I could have whatever they were having. I go to sleep writing on an app no one ever reads. In the end I did it to myself. Let’s hope I don’t do it tomorrow.
His helmet reflects pale lights of dawn His hands grope for his gun Leaving him there He wishes to have fought until his legs became too sore to run His lungs to hot to breathe His gun too cocked to shoot He watches as the new day encroaches He watches as his time in the hourglass closes His legs dig deeper as his arms wrap tighter He whispers soft words of comfort in his ears He lets out a struggled sigh of healing Morning arrives without fears Night swallows him whole A girl back in Boston sheds her tears A dog back in Boston fears alone
Color on the canvas drips together in a river of hues They mingle and they swirl Some deep and some shallow Each molecule touches as they collapse Together they are desired for a beautiful shade of brown It colors the cheeks of the women in the hall At each glance I gain new perspective The river of color returns to me again This time it colors the end of her shawl
The crows are flying delightfully
The trees passing by with each lyric in my ear
It all passes smoothly
In the wicked light above I watch as it dims
It recedes from every leaf and petal
It lessens the black of my irises
The blue and the green and the grey
Everything is just as it is meant to be
The sun rose today It’s flaming light reaches the window tenderly I don’t notice the light until I open my eyes The sun rises when I rise
The apartment is standing firm as I lay in it It’s blocks shield the sound of traffic and birds I don’t notice the sound until I open my eyes The sound makes noise when I hear it
As I rise the floorboards underneath me creak My sleeping bad rustles and drags As I stretch out my cousin wakes My cousin wakes because I awoke
