coughing on the soot of morning’s breath
stumbling through the mud, my child claimed by death
absent souls mock through their rotting eyes
past all torment that my arid heart decries
comets raking through resisting air
boiling water that reflected their hot glare
twisters, tidal waves, and panicked shrieks
fog and feces and ripping, gore-caked beaks
spitting out the ash of noon’s hushed hiss
i clutch him close and his cold forehead lean to kiss
fires fade just as the black sky snows
i wait as wistful as the ever-present crows
a moment, tossed in waves of pitch and sand
a moment. balance lost, unable just to stand
a second on the ground, eyes barely closed
one instant claims all during uneasy brief repose
wheeling madly as i search the skies
panting, screaming, and tearing at my eyes
calming, quiet. now a corpse that stands
nothing left. weighed down by heartless empty hands
choking on the filth of evening’s sigh
i walk alone and slowly wring my memories dry
no more wailing as none but i still can
i find the place where i’ll relinquish all i am
twisting gently into empty space
maimed eyes closing finding something close to grace
singing softly solemn lullabies
calmly cooing as my child cries
Eliza Folly attends college at the University of North Carolina in Asheville. She is a lesbian and second youngest sibling of nine raised in a Catholic family. She loves animals and writes frequently.