Love (this love) has left the room feet first— a procession of embers and ash. Illusions. Delusions. Damnable oxygen thief! So goes the stuff of paper hearts and fiery tongues, of promises—hollow— past oily lips and teeth that bite, sworn, born to outlive names etched on gravestones. Won’t you kill me, softly, with one last kiss? Blitheful consciousness. Walking sleep. Ignorant bliss. Then call the shomer down the street. He really knows his Job. Rip the collar, drape the mirror, pawn the wedding silver. Take your soul home, rockin’ its funerary black, and the stone I gave you to rub between cold fingertips on High Holy Days.
David Estringel is a Xicanx writer/poet with works published in literary publications, such as The Opiate, Azahares, Cephalorpress, Lahar, Poetry Ni, DREICH, Somos En Escrito, Ethel, The Milk House, Beir Bua Journal, and The Blue Nib. His first collection of poetry and short fiction Indelible Fingerprints was published April 2019, followed by Blood Honey and Cold Comfort House in 2022. David has written five poetry chapbooks, Punctures (2019), PeripherieS (2020), and Eating Pears on the Rooftop (2022) with Golden Calves and Blue scheduled for publication in 2023. His new book of micro poetry little punctures will be released in December 2022. Connect with David on Twitter @The_Booky_Man and his website www.davidaestringel.com.
This is so poignant and revealing. It makes me ponder how the spirit lives on, even when the person is gone. It also got me thinking about how the legacies of the past, direct the currents of the present. Almost a reminder to do better than those before us to honor them. An excellent poem overall that will stay etched in my mind.