2023 Zoyer Zyndel Poetry Prize

Indelible​

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My heart has

   wound down slow these days,

      like an old wristwatch,

skips metaphorical measures

   when I think of that night,

 

how I kissed your spittle-flecked lips

between compressions – 

     come back to me

      1  -  2  - 3

     come back to me

       1  -  2  - 3

– as ruby droplets dried on your cheek – 

 

I

could

not

save

you.

 

Once you were           breath          bone          cartilage.

You would think your ghost would be weightless,

      but I am so heavy with you.

 

Weeks after,

I found myself guiltily peering 

    through your journal pages and sketches,

posthumous voyeur of your life's doodles, 

the butterfly you drew

      symbol of recovery

      swirled and labyrinthine.

 

Page in hand I trudged to the tattoo parlor

barely managed a whisper:

      "over my heart"

your blood               into ink         

          onto bone

   needles stinging like recriminations.

 

Now I imagine her wings batting, lifting off,

riding my night sighs to find you,

returning to me, bearing your wordless benedictions 

     worn as an amulet, against another day

       without you.

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(Previously published in Oct 2019 Issue of Anti-Heroin Chic.)