allistillman

United States

jinx.

April 28, 2019

Here’s the thing:
    I’ve never – knock on wood, would you?–
    experienced death.

I’ve never – maybe that’s a strong word –
    faced a day where my eyes brimmed with inky tears
    & my mouth dried with the loss of air
    & my hands longed for a paucity of love.

I’ve never – I knock on my head in the absence of tree stumps –
    missed someone so appreciably that I cannot live
    another second, minute, day.

I’ve never – oh, please forgive me! –
    summoned a ghost with plexiglass whimpers
    & lost winters: cold, desolate, craving a bygone time.

I’ve never – I drizzle salt over my shoulder like a tempest of fortitude –
opened my eyes to bloodshot orbits
& taut bones of hollowed emotion
& forgotten what it’s like to live without his presence:
     a foreign patch of air inaugurated.

Here’s the thing, though.
    death is palpable with every inhale of seamlessly plaited air –
        it is the opaque cloud looming over Her majesty’s coffee demitasse
        & the sweltering heat that trickles Parisian paints
        off the canvas of amethyst vitality
& the fostered dream of Elysian Fields
        with heroic valor & cowardice
        embedded in the DNA of our mortal destinies.
& never is inevitable:
my eyes only transiently uncontaminated from pathogenic expiry.

Here’s the thing:
    we are all innately jinxed
    & never is a watered flame of enervated oxidation
    & loss is a keen knife of unfathomable planetary motion
        –but we all shatter into stardust at some point.
Oh, we disregard the disintegration of strangers  
    but overturn our fleeting vitality for the demise of love –
                                layers of loss inescapable.
& death
is a jinx.
        Knock on wood, would you?

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