I grew old and desperate
watching women stare into their own void
sink into it, the absence of themselves
within their skin
the presence of foreign matter
antimatter
with a smile on its face
*
the dead never made it out of our four walls
grief cramped across the windows
the wind brought back their odour
*
she sits at the kitchen table
and begs her body to move
*
he performs for her
screams amongst his children
hollers his lungs out at night
and asks her, perplexed
what are you talking about
*
my sister and I
dug one another out of the collective grave
stuck our heads out for a while
to smoke
and laugh at what we can’t escape just yet
Croque-Melpomene 