Today

and yesterday

and the day before

I buried

that son of a bitch

for the third time

but he wouldn’t

stay buried

he kept rising

to the surface

little droplets

of sanguine reminders

seeping out

and torturing

my soul.

But this time,

would be

the last time,

as I tied

cement blocks

to ropes

and pitched

him overboard.

As I watched

the rope unwind

taking him with it

I became entangled

in the knots

becoming bound

with him

in salty brine

for eternity.

Lick your lips and remember me as burning

Remember me as tongue on thighs

As keratin-ripped hips

As teeth against clavicle

As venom

As dripping

As sacre bleu, spilt

Remember me as screaming

As yawps

As oxygen-lacking

Keep me in your mind as tempest-settled

Prostrated defeat

Forget my deluge

My downpour

My cataract-rushing rhetoric

You as finale

Gasoline, match to my flits and titters

Tidal wave to my inhale

Gravity against wingless flight

Anaphora ending

Anaphora splayed

Anaphora halting

Faltered

Faulted

Frenzied

Frenzied

Lick your lips and remember me as

Frenzied

Frantic

Fanatic

As frenzied, frantic

As gravity against flightless finale

As flightless

As frantic

Remember me as faulted

As finale

As burning

It was almost Christmas. I was pregnant with my first child. My dad was more excited than anyone. He had been asking for a grandchild since my wedding day two years prior. When you gonna give me a grandson? I see a fishing buddy in my future. When we finally did get pregnant, I wasn’t ready, but things don’t always happen when you’re ready. They happen when they are meant to.

Although my husband and I lived in Philadelphia where I was a doctoral candidate at the University of Pennsylvania, classes were done and I had gone to New York to visit my family for the day. Trying to fit in visits to both my dad and my favorite great-aunt, I had decided it would be easier to cancel my lunch date with my dad (he worked in Brooklyn) to spend time with my 89-year-old great-aunt who lived a few blocks from my dad’s apartment. I figured I would surprise him when he got home from work.

When he got home, I was hiding in the kitchen while my stepmother went to the door. He came into the apartment, slowly, shuffling his feet. He said in a despondent voice, “She didn’t come. I told everyone in the office she was coming…”

In that fraction of a second, my heart broke for having hurt him. I hadn’t factored in the possibility of disappointment at my cancelling without saying I would see him later. As a mother now, I realize he had wanted to show off his beautiful baby, pregnant with her own, to his colleagues. I didn’t get it in the moment, though. I figured seeing me would be enough.

As he turned the corner to enter the kitchen, I jumped out and yelled “Surprise,” hoping that would suffice. I think he was thrilled. I tell myself his eyes lit up when he saw me. I can almost see them as well as his smile that only sometimes reached his eyes, but were always full of love.

I don’t remember what we talked about that evening. I wish I could remember the words. I know he rubbed my little belly a lot. He was so happy he was finally going to be a grandpa. I wish I could remember how tightly he held me when I kissed him goodbye and made my way home. I know it was a pleasant moment we shared. I just wish I had known it would be our last.

I was on bedrest within two weeks. Within two months, my dad was retired on disability at age 47 and hospitalized– his body finally succumbing to decades of alcoholism. Four months after that holiday visit, two days before my son entered the world, my father left it.

He never got to meet his fishing buddy.

We never got to say good bye.

You never really think about it. Death, that is. You never notice how quickly it can come and take someone and you never notice who it's marked until they're gone.

When I hugged you that morning, that bright Saturday morning, I didn't think about it being the last time I would hug you. I've always hugged you goodbye. I hugged you goobye when you went to summer camp for the first time even though it was only a fourth of the mile up the road. I hugged you goobye when you went on your first camping trip in Virginia. I hugged you goodbye when you went to college. I hugged you goodbye when you headed back down to college after Christmas. I hugged you goobye at our older brother's graudation and then, for the last time, I hugged you goobye. You were going on a hunting trip to Georgia later that day, literally just hours after I left.

I never thought I would say goodbye to you or anyone in our family so soon. You had only been living for twenty years and in my mind, there was absoloutly no way you were going to die any time soon.

And then I hugged you goodbye for the last time and reality sunk in. No, reality didn't sink in. Sinking is a slow process in which is drips in, bit by bit, slowly bringing you to the realization. No, reality slapped my in the face, making me realize all at once that I would never get to hug you again. It punched me in the gut.

I still remember the way your hug felt. It was warm and safe, soothing and comforting. Promising. Protecting. It wasn't a long hug, the kind I like, but rather six seconds, quick but reassuring.

I hugged someone just a few days ago that was around the same build as you. Their hug was too tight and the others too loose. Not protective enough.Not warm enough, too tall or too short. Too built or too skinny. There is only one hug like yours and it's gone.

I wish I had realized I was hugging you for the last time. I would have hugged you for longer.

time and time again

you expect me to acquiesce

to your manic machinations

time and time again

i do

despite the dangers

deep in your thrall

conceding i deserve this

cognizant of the fact

that the first time

i do not

will be my last time

We till the soil of ancients

Generations, laid to rest

From whom we are descendants

We breathe their ash and dust

We tread the earth beneath us

Ancestral, hallowed ground

Their blood cries out for justice

Spilled sorrow seeps, resounds

We hope for futures, brighter

Denying truth and past

In hubris, our wills smite her —

“Earth will always last”

One word will spark a fire

Consuming all that’s brass

Her precious gold survives her

The rest, burned up like chaff

The last time I ate gluten free chocolate cake was my seventeenth birthday. I laughed as I baked and snapchatted a picture of the crumbly, wheat-less, rather flat looking product to my best friend.

Her name was Sam.

She couldn’t eat gluten and so became the target of the easiest inside joke of our friends. Every box of gluten free cookies, every labeled menu option, instantly found itself the subject of a blurry phone pic showcased in our group chat. She would laugh, roll her eyes, and reply with almond milk directed toward the lactose intolerant unfortunate few.

We had fun that year. Senior year, which despite college applications and AP classes, was also golden and bright and overflowing with love. It was a race against the clock, against graduation, against going off to new lives and inevitably chalking this up to a few old facebook posts and a fond remembrance of laughter.

Far too quickly, it was over. And then we were preparing to split, and she was the first to go, the most permanent as well, moving back to Michigan. And then there were only tearful goodbyes and desperate last hugs and trying to remember her eyes, her smile, her voice, and fingers clasping but slipping away, away, away, gone.

It wasn’t so bad, after the first few days. There was social media, after all, and FaceTime. And soon, we’d all scattered, found ourselves impossibly busy once again, and it wasn’t so bad, but I took it for granted, only wished over and over to talk to her in person.

That winter was cold. Colder for her, though, all the way up north. The ice must have been brutal on the roads, and blacker than the night they were driving in, practically invisible. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And no one’s fault. That’s what they said at least. No one’s fault, no drunk driver, just a cruel trick of fate and no one to blame but the gods. They just kept saying it; no one could have known, could have done much of anything, but that made it worse, not better. I wanted someone to scream at, to hurt, to punish for taking her away from me.

How do you punish a god?

There is no longer a reason for me to get gluten free cake, no reason for me to consider it as an option each year on my birthday, but I’m drawn to it as I walk by, a sharp pain in my chest intensifying with too many painful memories and a longing to be reminded that Sam couldn’t eat gluten at my party, a longing to have that reason to pick up that box with the image of a crumbly, wheat-less, rather flat looking, gluten free chocolate cake.

I didn’t want to go that Friday. I was angry with my life and arguing with my husband. I was feeling sorry for myself and not in any mood to be helpful to anyone else. When I walked in she was slouched over to one side, unable to pull herself back up. I took a deep breath and walked over to the bed. She had a look of relief on her face when she saw me. I propped her back up and positioned pillows under her arm so she wouldn‘t fall over again. She was so far from the strong sturdy woman who took care of her family on her own when she couldn’t bare the mess she was in anymore. She stood against society to take that stand. She was the one who told me not to cry to force me into reality as a young child. Now, she was so humbled and totally dependent on others.

I reminded her of the new body she would have one day because of her profession of faith. I oftened teased her about dancing a jig on streets of gold. We sat and discussed the end for a few moments. What would happen the day she took her last breath and came into the presence of the LORD. Just then the doctor walked in. He reported her tests looked good and she was improving.

Lunch would be served shortly. She would need someone to cut it up and help her eat. Just as the food arrived another visitor came. I was relieved that someone else was there to help and I could just go home. I gave her a kiss and promised to come after the weekend.

Early Sunday morning I got the call. I heard the words but couldn’t understand. The doctor said she was improving. I listened with unbelief. I was told Saturday morning she decided to remove all support. She said she was tired and wanted to go “home”. She had outlived her siblings and buried two of her own children. The doctor made sure she understood the repercussions of her decision. She did. She held on all day into early Sunday morning while family surrounded her.

Why wasn’t I called? Why didn’t they tell me? I was the closest one to her! She shared intimate things with me that she never spoke to anyone else. People who barely gave her the time of day and said unkind things behind her back were there.

But it didn’t matter. It was too late. She was gone. I wasn’t there to comfort her or say goodbye. I wasn’t there to make jokes and see her smile. I wasn’t there to reassure her that we would see each other again one day or tell her that everything was going to be ok. If I had known it was the last time, I would have told her how brave I thought she was and how much I looked up to her for the woman she was. If I had known it was the last time, I would have told her how much she meant to me, how much I loved her and regretted any disagreements we ever had. I would’ve told her I was sorry for my selfishness and wanted to spend more time with her. If I had only known it was the last time.

The two have been around since the beginning of the kingdom’s rise and time of prosperity. They were both given the same powers by the King & Queen of Irph.

But after a little while, one tried to take over the throne. This did not sit well with the other party.

The last time they fought~ the ground violenty trembled and even ripped wide open. Folks had to really be careful and watch their step. Not only that, a massive storm poured down across the land. Never before had there been so much destruction.

The King told the two siblings- ‘‘Let this be the last fight you have. You nearly blew us all to kingdom come.’’ They wanted to take their powers away, but because the other sibling was on their side & told them she would watch over the kingdom, they decided to let them both keep their powers. The Queen said to them— ‘‘this better be the last time we warn you two on how to control your powers.’’

The evil one is currently serving her time in prison. She has a really long sentence.

Good triumphed over evil. Hurray!

So, that’s how their brief story goes. Let’s hope they won’t have to face each other ever again.

#Ladernièrefois.

Dear Bridget,

I think I’m losing my mind.

You’d know of such things, wouldn’t you? Haha. That was a joke. I know it’s been a while since we’ve spoken, but you’re still my big sister and I still get to make jokes. Anyway, I’m fairly certain that this will be the last time you hear from me, so I figured I'd do it the old fashioned way and send you a letter. As per the above, I’m going crazy.

At first it was just the wind howling through the branches and then it was the tapping of those branches on the windows and then it was the shrieking, shrieking that couldn’t just be the wind and now it’s here and it’s here for me. I think you know what I’m talking about. I think I remember it happening once, long ago, when we still lived in that house with the little pond in the backyard. You remember that house? It was a good house, as far as houses went. I was never sure about such things, but then you always cared about all that interior design crap more than I did, and you said it was a cute little house. You said it had personality.

I remember one day we were out playing in the yard by that little pond and you saw something in the lake. And you dragged me away from the water so fast, I thought you’d rip my arm clean off. I was crying, I remember. Crying so hard. And I screamed at you, told mom you were being dramatic, like always. But you just looked at Mom and you said “I saw something. It didn’t belong and I think it was a monster.” And Mom didn’t even yell at you. She just said “Okay, Bridget. Why don’t you wash up for dinner?”

There have always been things in the dark, shadows not explained by the items sitting on my desk or hanging in my closet. I ignored them because no one else ever mentioned them, and it is better to keep crazy to yourself than to be labeled as such. You know this, Bridget. You know what it is to crumble only when no one else can see it happening. I was there, once, when you fell apart in a room you thought was empty. I was sitting in Dad’s chair, the one he never let us use. You came in and you shut the door and your breath shuddered out of your chest so hard, I almost turned around in the chair and went to you. I almost did, but then you started heaving out those heavy breaths. You started crying so hard. It was right after Bongo died, you remember Bongo? I never knew things hit you so hard, never saw how much you felt it all inside your skin until the day our puppy died and you found his body beside that pond.

It all comes back to that pond, really. That’s where the monster is. Only this time it’s the stream that runs along the back of my property. It took a long time, but it found me. I think I don’t have long.

Promise you won’t break down in another room when I’m gone. Promise you’ll do it out in the open and let someone put you back together. It takes so much longer when it’s just you picking up all the pieces. It takes so much longer when you don’t ask for help. And I know that makes me a hypocrite, because maybe if I'd called you on the phone instead of writing this letter, it would mean that maybe you could help me. But see, I couldn't ask you to do that. Because what if I called and I asked you and you couldn't stop it? I think that would be worse. For both of us.

We weren’t very good at being sisters, you know. It was never really for us. We both pushed away from each other, two swimmers breaking off from the pool wall, moving in different directions. Passed right by each other on the way to wherever it is we ended up. I don’t blame you for that, and I won’t blame you for not saving me this time. I’ll just go, and I’ll go knowing that I wrote this letter and tried to get away from that thing out there in the dark, sucking up the stream water and waiting for me to venture too close. See, there’s a storm. It’s going to hit very soon, and then that stream will overflow. The rain will pour right onto the roof of this house and it’ll bleed into the ground and it’ll pile into that stream until it boils over. Until all the shadows that move without prompting come pouring out.

I know you'll ask why I didn't run, and all I can say to that is that I did. I ran for so many years. You ever wonder why we weren't moving in the same direction when we pushed off from that wall? You ever wonder why I didn't change course to follow after you the way I used to when we were kids? I guess I just didn't want you looking over your shoulder all the time, the way you had to growing up. Always watching out for me, always chasing away the ugliness that slid along my heels and pulled at my summer dress. I guess I just wanted you to have everything you ever wanted, and I'd just have to live with knowing that you got it, even if I couldn't be there to see it. I think I can see it now though, in the smile you wear in all those pictures you send. In the little glint behind your eyes. Don't beat yourself up about this. Don't think there was anything you could've done. Keep the glint.

Love you,

M