The World Stops for the Grieving
the world stops for the grieving :: but only for a minute :: stoplights time our tears :: blink when
we should let our feelings wilt :: policemen can escort us :: for only so long :: every life curfews
but so few of us :: know when to sleep :: someone demands I end my weeping :: but I can’t name
them :: I can’t name anyone who wants to see me cry :: people prefer me dry :: uncracked :: pink
:: with a throat that doesn’t swim when it breathes :: someone says I am veering the wrong way ::
down the intersection between death and waste :: there is nowhere else to go :: one day :: I will
leak like a pipe :: I will not end :: the earth will not stop shaking ::
God’s fingers are telephone poles.
He touches us. We don’t want it.
Birds could exist without us.
They sing for themselves.
Is it bad to desire
something for myself?
Mailmen hand me envelopes
and I still can’t read the letters.
I will not talk about the light.
I am sure that God ate birds
for their feathers and softness.
I am sure that God would canary
if he could. I want a mountain, maybe.
Where is the charge I was promised?
I am supposed to jolt. I am the only one
who must burn to rebuild.
This is not talking about the light.
Either way, no one can hear me.
I know that God is not yellow. Too much
humming. Not enough puddle.
Funny how birds don’t fear falling.
Maybe lightning. Maybe their feelings
aren’t malleable like ours are. I want wings
but not the burden of flight. I want less heavy.
I want peaks. Electric cables. A god
to eat me. Something that shocks.
Samantha Fain is an undergraduate student studying creative writing at Franklin College. Her work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, SWWIM, Dirty Paws Poetry, Utterance, and others. TWITTER.