Mariela Flores ’23
I wish I could float inside the slits you let open
like a seed in a line ready to sink and to grow. I wish I could dive
into your veins and feel your hot blood crash against me.
I want nothing more than to burn from the spark in the shaking of our hands
––to feel the drilling of your rhythm until I only hear––your sounds.
But your body is hollow, echoing my screams.
If I dive into you now, I will fall onto soft bags
filled with proof of a breath, proof of a cleansing, proof
of a thought etched into the ridges of time with no ear nearby.
I cannot float without choking on the colorless
pungent smell of this new you. You reek of wilting petals
and dimming lights from the sky pulling bodies into rest.
As I touch you now, the burn is cold and raw.
I wait for the spark in my hand to thaw you––but you stay frozen.
I press my ear to your chamber hoping to hear
the thumping of some sound. I hate the silence that you leave me.
I wish I could will your soul back into its casing
and feel the pulsing rush of your life embrace me.
But your body is rusted underneath old soft green earth
and there is no more time to wish.