"Endings" by Bethanie Smith

Sister
She soothed me when I awoke from turbulent horror
bathed me in hands of warmth
and healing waters of her voice.
She sung to me, oh she sung and sung
about bells on a hill and fragrant meadows of dawn.
She spoke stories, rewrote the history of Harriet
who spied and spied
lulling me toward blankets of safety.
She taught me things-
sneaking victuals with grace and silence
soft ballet steps into her shoes.
She gave me love of a mother
love of her child.
She gave me these things.

Rebellion
I was being bad so I puffed on the cigarette. This would make her mad. I was sure this would make her mad. The smoke circled around my tongue and I blew out the small puffy cloud-- it came out in the shape of her. Boy that made my blood boil. She was the last person I wanted to see. But the smoke was dense, white, formed. I wanted to be bad so she could stare at me all she wanted with her puckered lips and disapproving glare and I would just sit there, being bad. I inhaled a little deeper--I felt pressure in my chest but I swore I wouldn't cough like you always see them do in the movies. The smoke came out again forming her  rigid face and she stared and stared and stared with impenetrable censure. I could hear her nasty distaste for me through the smoke. I quickly inhaled the deepest sleeve of smoke until I could feel it in my gut--and blew out the thick, stinky vapor into her smokey face. She was gone and I coughed while the entire sea just stared at me.

Fucking- Flowers
Like I don’t have better things to do than visit her stupid grave, and if they think I’m bringing flowers they’ve got another thing comin'. Not like she knows there are cheesy, rotting flowers for her anyway, it’s just all for show. Now we can all stand around pretending we’ve done something noble by bringing a carcass cheap carnations. She hated those fake dyed colors! Don’t they know that? What makes me laugh even harder is standing over the grave as if we could have some meaningful, deep conversation with her. She’s dead, and that’s that. There is no talking to her (as if she could give us some reason from the beyond why she died), no giving her gifts (so she could feel better about being dead), no comforting her. They come to the grave to comfort themselves. That makes me sick.

A Prayer to my Sister
I know you're already dead
somehow I still beg you to hear:
What was lost
between our reflections so distant
could be lost forever.
Was space really for hands held
palm to palm
head bowed in servitude
or from splitting threads
down the center of our separate worlds
dividing our kin into fragments?
Death may be our only healer now
but please except deeply--
my open arms
and white memories--
to piece together
our shattered mirrors.

State of Mind
Peace Smile Calm Soothing Confident Happy Curious Flicker Question Intrigue Examine Peel Analyze Distract Stop Breathe Space Trust Energy Play Excite Love Love Love Tired Wonder Annoyance Tenacity Suspicion Control Tension Dissect Headache Consume Imagined Figment Obsess Think Think Think Resent Argue Cruel Paranoid Guilt Calm Exhaustion Relent Trust Exuberance Cheerful Joy Zen Love Peaceful Stung Shocked Stupid Feud Pain Deep Crying Dark Scary Aching Hate Loathing Hurts Hurts Hurts Anger Regret Remorse Shame Sorrow Compassion Letting go--Mirror Disgust Blame Lunatic Crazy Insane Psycho Screaming Hate Hate Hate Raving. Cancer.

Abyss
Youth rots
in the crevice of a worthless soiled town.

Nothing but methamphetamine for the meager
isolated smoldering drags for the even poorer.

Dreams dissipate as smoke drifts from a pipe
Lethargy seeps into your exposed skin.

Appetites crave debris
Happiness is drinking at the bar.

Hopeless ignorance
cradles your simple existence.

You are consumed by decay.

Legacy
The boy was born worried about water.

Water on the bedside table? In the car? In the bag? Is the cup full of water? Water! Water! Water! What if we run out of water?

Never enough. Greedy hands protect his supply: petrified they are the last drops on earth.

How can I console his worries?

I cannot.

Taken
The mother sat down for her cup of coffee after sending her curious child outside to play. It was time to stop being so overbearing, she resolved, and would dedicate a few brief moments to herself.

The little boy played outside, ignorant of the stress he causes his mother.

To be a good mother she would need to begin taking time outs like these regularly, she reassured herself. Yes, in fact, she was so positive of this alone time that she would be sure to call all her mother friends and insist they too take some time for themselves.

Refreshed and satisfied about taking the time to recharge, the mother set her book aside and washed her cup while looking out the open window for her boy.

She called his name loudly, he did not respond.

She opened the door to find him nowhere.

Crossing the Street
It's all in one's walk.

A child skips across the pavement, tripping on their feet unable to keep up with their active minds. The danger lurking on the street instills them with a healthy fear--yet, they smile running across eagerly looking for what's on the other side.

A teenage soul may neither care for what's on the other side, nor about the danger that lies between the sidewalks. Life pulls them down--their feet slide across the pavement like a sloth. To them, they are the only ones who reside on the pavement.

An adult, prime in his life--too distracted to look either way--heavy burdens with the responsibilities of age blinds their path. They hustle their way over, careless of what may lie on the other side, eager to resume their day and carry on.

Old with age--their shuffling feet and minds are not avoidance from seeing their names marked upon tombstones--they've accepted what's on the other side. Their loss of love resides within their hearts, too weak and heavy to keep pounding. Their failures and hardships have turned their bones brittle. Life has worn their bodies down to a shuffle:

They enjoy the walk for what it is.

Lullaby
Goodbye, goodnight
Close your eyes tight.
The stars are here
so do not fear
the death that takes your life.
They will swirl and spiral
slowly out of sight
the darkness
that was once the light.
Close your eyes now
close them tight
till your body drains of life.

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