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About Literature / Hobbyist Member EmilyFemale/United States Group :iconcalling-all-poetry: Calling-All-Poetry
 
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Emily
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
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20 deviations
My boyfriend watched, open mouthed
as I unscrewed the lid of your urn,
and ran my fingers through your ashes.
Your depression, your soul dust.
I felt nothing other than
an ocean roiling beneath my ribs,
and an urge to hold the brass ossuary,
and rock you back and forth
like you did for me when I was young.
-
At the funeral, my uncle announced
that you despised religion.
But he left out the part
where you did believe in a God,
just that he was always punishing you.
-
“There was nothing you could have done”
said the other uncle.
I think of all those spent wishes,
the birthday candles extinguished for gifts,
the meteor showers I wasted on love,
the prayers offered from family friends
that are now given a little too late.
-
This year, I turn 22 years old.
But when I blow out the candles,
my wish won’t matter.
None of them did.
One, two, three
My birthday was actually a couple days ago.

I feel empty.

Edit 1/8/2015: Thank you so much for the DD. I wrote this shortly after my father passed away on New Year's two years ago. He ended his own life after a long battle with depression and being diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. Ever since, I have been struggling to process my feelings about this event - and I will be for a very long time. He was my favorite person in the entire world. He was incredibly funny, intelligent, sarcastic, as well as gifted machinist and an amazing storyteller. Although he was battling his own inner demons, he constantly made others laugh and was always willing to lend a hand. The word was a better place with him in it. I miss him every day.
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You were still alive when I started this poem.
Maybe Newport's walls couldn't hold you in after all,
Maybe running away from home is the only way back.

I spend every summer looking for you in the sky,
between the blurred bokeh of carnival lights
and the blasts of mortars. 
Nothing but smoke.

I hang on to that last week in August like a promise.
Maybe in the crowd of two hundred thousand,
your face would flicker in the dark
before disappearing altogether. 

But after the bright lights burst, 
all we are left with is blue bruising into orange
and the fade of sulfur in the air.

After it's  over,
all that we have
are the ashes in our palms.
Okay, so remember that time we shot
bottle rockets off at the neighbor's roof,
just because fuck 'em, you said.
Light 'em up.

You'd buy those silver, round whirlygigs,
flying razorblades, you'd call them,
because you loved anything sharp,
dangerous, laughing when one'd skirt
too closely to your heels.

We'd drive to Hudson the week of the fourth,
Go to that little fair.
You know, the one on the St. Croix.
That's not there anymore,
but neither are you, I guess.

I spent those summers lighting the tails
of Black Cats and roman candles with your cigarettes,
You'd always say, careful, lighting it for me
burning your hands instead of mine.

No matter how many cherry bombs
and jumping jacks we threw into the street,
No matter how many lawn fires we put out,
We weren't ready for this.

Your life was a fireworks finale gone wrong,
No matter how fast I was at running from the sparks,
All I could do was hang on,
watching you go up in smoke.

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:iconshadowisstillalive:
ShadowIsStillAlive Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the badge!
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:iconpennymae:
PennyMae Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2015
Thanks for the llama :la:
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:iconsuperdemon-inuyasha:
Superdemon-Inuyasha Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the llama! ;w; :hug: :glomp:
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:iconthesoundtechie:
TheSoundTechie Featured By Owner Edited Jan 14, 2015  Student Artist
Thanks for the :llama:!
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:iconcastawayserenade:
CastawaySerenade Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for my first Llama! ☆
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