The last of the last, lying in their sooty graves.
Their arms reaching for a final embrace,
prosthetic limbs, nimble and fat, for the taking.
I took the chance and burned my eyes and their
paths to my mind -my head split at the turn of
their necks :::all at once::: they wouldn't allow
me to kiss their departed flesh: cold cash &
colder hearts alongside tombs with every
good Christian woman's favorite artwork.
Their last 20 days were without speech and
instead of talking, they had to communicate in-
side of their minds, blindfolded, always fighting.
I shook up the foundation they were buried under,
and once the maggots drew breath of the earth's air,
we (showered once) said our goodbyes, but never
said a word. The end was like a dying elephant:
it's long, gray trunk, leapt from its face,
making noise :::squall::: that carried a tone
like dark chocolate into my heart, and I felt
the plates of its feet collapse onto the cement
tile. And I tried to ease the flame. And I tried
to ignite the fire inside, with hope that there
would be one, but the dust from her chest
was all that drew while my mouth was on her,
while my body and arms grasped the outer crust
of her heels, praying to the stars to spare
what I had once thought to be one of their very own.
