good mourning, a poem

Processed with RNI Films

“Good mourning!”

A proclamation of a prologue ending

threaded on a banner of good intentions bending.  

I have seen summer and autumn and winter and spring,

but this season is like nothing I have ever even dreamed,

where the weather tastes like lemons,

and honey sticks between my fingers,

and the shadowed corner of my mind summons.  


Where my mind is the static of nights spent staring

at ceilings of fading connections.

“Happy birthday!”

A proclamation said to taste like frosting,

to melt like cotton candy,

but is instead like cold tea,

some bitter, spilled catastrophe.  

“Good mornings” and “good evenings”

are phrases thrown as habitual as sending

cards of “thank yous” and “get well soons.”


And my “how are yous?” are handed back to me

with your “goods” rolling of your shoulders,

but I catch them in my palm, turn them and ask,

Really, how are you?”

Processed with RNI Films

            Good mourning:

a ballad of a broken camera and blurred polaroids,

of shattered constellations once worn

as diamonds at my neck,

a ballad of scattered moon-dust

in dirty wishing well water.  

Good mourning:

a day when I begin peeling labels and layers,

where my consolations are sunsets,

fireflies, and prayers.  

So now I say,

“Good mourning to this third birth!”

Mourn because at seventeen I find time to be prisons,

a labyrinth of wishful thoughts as fading lanterns.

Good mourning…

not at birth itself but that the party

is celebrated with deflating balloons

of ambitions broken

and sending lost dreams

as paper boats down my own bloodstreams.

Processed with VSCO with c1 preset

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