Flight Burial

We could not bury him, because the body could not be recovered. It took flight into the night. While most of us slept and the few insomniacs stared at celestial bodies, the soul of Dear Old Tom attempted take off. The problem, one that has never occurred prior or since, was the reluctance on the part of the body to be parted with the soul.

So instead of the wisp of animus gliding out on the final exhalation, the body clung to the soul and took flight.

Dear Old Tom’s daughter came into his bedroom to check on him, having sensed that something was amiss, only to see the windows flung open and the bed sheets strewn about. When she peered out the window, afraid she would see her father shattered on the ground two-stories below, she was met with the peculiar sight of his body flying over the village in nothing but a lilac nightgown.

She called out to him. He did not reply. She swore she saw him smiling serenely.

One insomniac in the village noticed with horror and delight the body of Dear Old Tom soaring slowly higher and higher into the sky, mounting a trail of stardust.

The next day the whole village came together to mourn and remember Dear Old Tom and all the beautiful things he had done for us. We shared our gratitude for all the lives he had saved and all the frightened children he had given voices. He had been our clumsy, compassionate bard. Every one of us cried when confronted with how much we were going to miss him.

We gave him a sky funeral, for what else could we do? We did not know for sure he was dead, but we knew he was gone. And we searched for him among the consolations.

Your Momentary Lapse of Reason

Did you know your whole life can fit inside a suitcase?
Or even a ribcage?
We’re just meandering through our twenties
Wondering what satisfaction tastes like
Hold me in your lithe arms
Kiss me hard enough that my feet finally touch the ground
And I land in this moment
I hope you never wake up from me
Like I’m some dream or passing fancy
I hope you never wonder what madness possessed you into loving me
That I am not some sickness you are cured from
Your momentary lapse of reason
Please, love me sober and quiet
staring at my nakedness
study it carefully
commit it to memory
less we regret

Die Alone Together

And you loved her, but you were trapped behind a wall of sadness

Built out of “I don’t knows” and awkward silences that lingered

like the stench of dead things

And she loved you back despite the life in her

She needed to be needed and never knew it could be any other way

Neither of you were the problem

Each of you were the victim

It was so clear, clear as the edge of a knife

You saw each other, but never touched

You stayed up all night talking through the fears, but never heard

You held onto the hope that this was in fact what it felt like to be whole

You lived long enough to die alone together

Trapped in the dark, distance built into the equation

Burning out like two stars orbiting one another in the night

You Are Mistaken

It’s upsetting

sometimes in the spaces between thoughts

there is a voice that interjects

“I kind of hate myself”

But it’s not me, that voice is not me

It tries to impersonate me and bring me down

Put me in my place, wherever that is

It is unnecessary and cruel

It’s a little slap on the face when I’m not expecting it

something to keep me on my toes

I wanted to do something

but instead I did nothing

and I confused what I do for what I am

So I mistook doing nothing for being nothing

And feeling bored for being boring

Feeling disappointed for being a disappointment

All the while I sat there

believing that feelings were a good enough excuse

to wallow in dissatisfaction

They would all live in a forest, with dogs…

It wasn’t really what they had intended when they moved out to the badlands. They needed a home, a place to call their own and this seemed as good a place as any. In fact, it seemed much better than the city they had fled. What the forests bordering the badlands lacked in comforts or conveniences it made up for in freedom.

“I think Opal is going to have her puppies soon.” Emma said, while she pet the silky, white dog. Fiona was making a fire, concentrating on getting the kindling to light. The sun was just a sliver on the horizon now and Fiona was getting more frustrated the darker it got.

“Oh, yeah.” Fiona said, only giving Emma a fraction of her attention. Emma didn’t mind and continued to stroke Opal’s head. The dog was very pregnant at this point and it made her lethargic and clingy.

Emma and Fiona had brought Opal with them on the journey for companionship and protection, not realizing she was pregnant until a week after their departure.

Emma had thought it was an ironic omen, that they had fled St. Oron’s city of Wonder precisely because they did not want to have babies or start a family. All they wanted was each other and that had been sin enough to get them blacklisted as “noncompliant”. And here they were with puppies on the way, but Emma secretly did not mind.

A Poem About Nothing

She wasn’t sure what to write about

She wasn’t sure she ever would be
She wanted so much to have something to touch
     with her mind
     with her pen
But the well runs dry
The mind betrays her best intentions
There were so many cracks in her resolve
But apparently there were enough insecurities in her heart
     that she could continue to write about them endlessly
So every poem she ever wrote was about
     how she knew not what to write a poem about

Days We Never Want to End

In this moment we are so happy to be alive,

we don’t ask why

We let go of plans,

as we clasp hands

We don’t ask what it all means

Because it doesn’t mean a thing

and it never needed to

The reason we inhale is so we can exhale

Let it go because we were never meant to hold on

Be just a little bit braver than me

And I’ll be grateful every time you look back over your shoulder to catch me smiling