I was drinking mildewed wine while the bartender
sliced winter lemons. Blood oranges and Key
West limes as bright as hungry frogs.
He changed the channel from slaughtered
students to coyote documentaries to digital
Korean snow. To children who always
knew they would be famous throwing
their beautiful bodies into the sky with nothing
but fiberglass and the breath of red-throated
loons to soften their choreographed landing.
He brought me a plate. He brought me
poblanos bursting with garlic and thyme.
He brought me a new glass of wine
because I live that kind of life. I wanted to wade
with the dead in muddy river water and fill
the new holes in their beautiful bodies
with rosemary. With snow white lilies
and melted wax. There is not enough time
in frozen daylight to shed every necessary
tear and you ask me about love poems
but I give you this. I give you this funeral.
I give you this funeral song.
Beth Gordon is a writer who has been landlocked in St. Louis, Missouri for sixteen years but dreams of oceans daily. Her work has recently appeared in Into the Void, Quail Bell, Calamus Journal, By&By, Five:2:One, Barzakh, and others. She can be found on Twitter @bethgordonpoet.
Featured photo of Sligo, Ireland statue to honor those lost at sea by Shay Sevenfold.
“Throwing their beautiful bodies into the sky” photo by Cat.
califragile.org 