the slow slide
down from the stars above. love,

it leaves so fast,
grows so quickly cold.

she had looked into the shark's dead eyes
and found the friend
that waits in silent shadows

that draw the dying
inside themselves and into

the lone, solitary ring
of the cold church bells song.

Sylvia stared with dead eyes
and rode the white horse of death into the fire.

I cried
yesterday

and what little
was buried inside

got out—

spilled all over
the floor,

flooding the walls,
the windows,
and the doors,
dripping from tables,
chairs,
and pillows

at my feet.

And how I stood
there in silence,

hearing the clock
tick and talk,

waiting for
someone—
anyone—

to come and
save me.

It's only been
thirty years.

I prefer to talk of myself as a first person
My third choice is the second.
The one I use is the third.
She’s the one that judges a lot.

I feel cold.

The stars shine brightly in the sky above me.

I see the moon, serene and distant.

The dagger rests perfectly in my heart.

I remember the stories my mother once told me.

I recall the faces of my cat and dog.

Yet, why do I feel so empty?

Isn’t this what I always wanted?

To sleep peacefully, to finally be free.

Then why does joy still elude me?

They promised I’d feel it once I reached my goal.

What am I missing?

I pondered this as the final moments of my life slipped away, blood seeping from the wound I gifted myself.

And then, as the last flicker of light faded from my eyes, I understood.

It’s because I can no longer remember that face.

Unnamed

Unnamed she listened to the
unsung. No talent escaped
her no song unsung.

Only tomorrow was interesting.
The unbuds of Spring's tomorrow,

no

song of Engelbert’s or Waylon’s*
ever happened in the Time
of the fullness” of time

Did salvation arrive? What
was the white chariot being?

Elijah did not stop for her.

The dreams only patted her
head under the pillow

she placed

Over

her face


Caroline Shank
9.11.224