Final Poem

7 thoughts on “Final Poem”

1. The White of Mourning

   To them,
   she is swathed in the white of mourning,
   gliding through the pews to greet those who’ve come.
   Black armbands pinned to their sleeves,
   they bow their head in prayer,
   coaxing the dedicated wife to kneel with them.
   Foreheads pressed to the ground,
   they don’t see the small vial tucked away within the folds of her robes,
   they don’t see the smile bloom across her face.
   They only see a young wife frozen in her grief,
   left behind to waste away her years
   as a widow.

   To her,
   these are robes of celebration,
   of the long life that lies in wait,
   how she’ll dance in glee once she crosses the threshold
   of the home that had once been her prison.
   With no one to scorn her, no one to watch her,
   she grins at the ground and listens
   to the ebb and flow of the anguished chorus.
   She stands up and bows, eager to leave,
   for it’s the last hurdle
   before she is free.

2. Here’s a story
   with an infinite ending
   & a child
   to make it continue

   I ask for the time
   It sells a lie
   Velvety soft and stupid
   I’ve done it again

   Nostalgia kills but
   all that’s left is
   what once was
   Something’s out of place

   Our ribs are tough
   Blue eyes, lavender walls,
   Daisies pressed
   against my eyes

   Write it on the ceiling,
   Inscribe it on my heart,
   It’s written there already
   Now or already or never

3. He will fall to his doom
   No matter how much love he has
   How deep his pockets may be
   Or how beautiful his eyes are

   His doom is eternal
   No key
   No password
   No exit

   His doom is our doom
   We starve with him
   We cry beside him
   We bleed within him

4. Dulled by my hand
   My intentional, working hand
   After years I wish nothing more
   Than for you to feel the
   Comfort of a soft, worn edge
   No longer dangerous to you
   To us
   I shape these edges
   I make them glitter
   And once they pose no threat
   Their halo surrounds you
   You shine even brighter.

5. About the Birth of Venus

   Seafoam,
   borne from nothing, bursts to nothing.
   Her calves are the same as mine, her hands.
   There’s no salt on her softened skin,
   under her smooth nails.
   She could have been my mother.
   Her feet felt pearl before sand
   and then the whirling tides erased her steps.
   Yesterday, a thousand years ago.
   The shore is empty now.
   Maybe the ocean remembers, the waves
   that crashed her out. The seashells cradled her.
   Her hair is dry.

   Maybe not.

6. Darling, stay.
   Look into the mirror,
   and see your reflection.
   Isn’t she so pretty?

   I know it hurts,
   his laughter bouncing off the walls,
   prickling your heart in
   unfathomable ways.

   I know it hurts.
   Every breath you take,
   suffocating you, feeling
   like the poisonous fire
   you escaped from.

   But, darling, stay.
   Because now, you are
   the star. Look at him now,
   begging on his knees,
   wanting another chance.

7. The infinite vastness of these rampaging currents
   search through my crevices for solutions to their questions
   those that remain unanswered within their wet shadows.

   Undoubtedly, they will reach their devastating end.
   Cascading down, swallowing, and embracing my soles.
   Holding me down, pulling me in, delicately they are.
   I am one with the earth as they are one with me.

   Claim me as your child with your sweet touch,
   the touch that embraces my faults
   and relentlessly says I am worthy.
   Tie me in and embrace my faults,
   within the labyrinths of your beauty,
   your cascading waters.