NIL

2023
Isamar Jaquez

The sky is a window with a depth behind it so deep
The plump bottom that sat on the glass has already gotten bored of searching in the dark
Plucking pink petals from their black hairline with pale hands
Like yours and mine
A spirit like a child
With the curiosity of a bee
And the face of a hole
Pressed palms watch against the glass, daisies blooming, as someone down below searches
For the words
For the answer
For the first time
The fate of a Gods birth

 
Barely born, forever young
Holding the Earth right on the breast bone
The graves they watered - a cathedral of spring flowers - a field
Filled with death so wet and smelling of tears and iron so dry
Suspended in pain
Suspended in time
Is where a God kept all who self destructed
Self mutilated
Those who buried the self
Lighting a candle for all whos birthdays have passed since the day blood was last drawn
Waiting for a bloom, a flower, a hand to be plucked
 
Engine rolls to the beginning of a film
Churning overexposed images scorching the retinas of those who watched white
Matching the eyes that glew behind
Together, watch your life unfold and roll past your feet
Off the edge of the cold platform onto the lap of someone who knew how to love you
The sugar breaks the molars as teeth clench to the memory where life was cradled
A life just as sweet as moms breast milk
As warm as the blue womb
Just as sticky as fresh blood
The blackness in the eye who stared back confessed
 
“I do not want you to die yet”
 
Staring at their overlapping toes
Naively intertwined with the face of death
Staying by your side, till the last breath was taken
Holding your scars tenderly
The dirt underneath their fingernails dig into your flesh
Drawing blood
Until enough was enough
The cathedral decayed
From the oversaturation of holy water
Pouring into the grave
From the hand like yours and mine
The forget-me-nots crumble and distort into ash blowing
Dancing in the wind
Free for one last time
Before the God pauses and moves on to the next

 
Sitting on the glass with their round and warm bottom, the God watches from the window
More human than they ever were
More heard than they ever felt
As the ant down below recited their story from a heart so hurt
Full of wonder and woe
They, too, were looking for a voice to kiss their cheek tenderly
The clouds drifted by lethargically
As one last petal fell from their temple
Onto the glass
Where the ash falls into the darkness behind
That marked their face
And stained their eyes white