Moonboy

Stray light broke over the child’s body,

shattering, spraying the water

in volleys unseen.

Like harbingers of hypothetical

planets,

pushing,

pulling

hoods shut and away

over the shoulder,

cold, in the grave

orbited by uniformly black umbrellas

 

That child’s stray light

exploded from him.

 

Wasted.

 

He was dead.

Start spring-loaded stomached

swimmers

after him

at the precise moment

for everyone there to remember

perfectly.

 

fluorescent shimmering eyes like frozen

beetle shells, blue ice floes braking slow,

to the shock of reciprocating legs,

arms, eyelids and years of repression

coming, going, pushing, pulling me through

time. The child is always with me, he draws

me into the water with him, and I

can’t swim.  I’m drowning with him six meters

below sea level, too far to see me,

hurtling past Saturn into darkness

and the twenty-year nightmare returning

again in cosmic cruelty. The walls press

him in, they flung me out like anther waft

echoed over mountains of experience.

 

I remember wrongly,

that child’s fingers stuck together

with scotch tape,

his bleached hair ripped nervously

out around the horizons

of his face.

 

 

I remember wrongly,

the scope

and number

of people watching him die,

I don’t think anyone witnessed

his last moments, seconds.

 

Do we die all at once,

or a little at a time?

Is this why my ankles

shiver

like hairdryers in the bathtub

every time I let myself forget

about that dead child’s

perfectly round

white and far-away face?

 

I want to walk where he had walked, I want

to stand between him and the dark places

He rose over.

Reviews

[SleeplessVolcano]

This almost has the feel of a novel to it, with a very introspective narrator taking the lead......

It feels as if it should go on.....

Great writing...:)

[mercy party]

you are skillful. Every now and then i run across talent like this and i am almost intimidated to even review it. mad respect! your take on helplessness hit me in the gut.

[Chloe]

I love the juxtaposition of reality and the posthumous, the imagined, the surreal. Some one who is no longer here is really more here than ever. The cosmic and realistic depictions are beautiful. They add depth and showcase your ability to show meaning without telling the meaning. I loved this very much. Thank you for sharing!