I dream of dead humans, the true ones, in dirt and dreaming their own agonies.
Residing in ether and urn, there’s really nowhere left to fly to.
The sky waits for no one.
My grandmother, lioness in the garden sauntered her way about tomatoes.
I teetered around the rectangle, atoms and nickels happened in me,
I was soon taller than the sunflowers, then she was gone.
My father is still the painting I hang like a trophy in imagination, a place I still touch the wet paint, blue and deep red. I want to know how far back this charade cooks.
Nonsensical, this isn’t of the Earth, she rotates dirt and ocean in sensibility.
The boys put the demons in me. Only one boy is dead. I don’t hang my head for the black spot he’s become in my mind. I don’t want to strain the curvature of my neck, a place for the living to put his hands.
I pray for multiple exit wounds. Little gaping mouths bloody with words that say fix me in all the places worth fixing. Not an on the knees situation. There is no God in my blood clotting.
Send messages to nurses, doctors, specialists on thin
linoleum, pale green, mopped and mopped. Tell them my brain knows,
I bite into the fruit every night and I bleed confusion onto this gurney.
Wheeled around corners, my face falls off with every turn, stuck on the white walls of a place I thought was to heal, to seal wounds with manic stitches,
what laughs in blood never returns to the soil.
Sarah Lilius is the author of four chapbooks including GIRL (dancing girl press, 2017), and Thirsty Bones (Blood Pudding Press, 2017). Some of her publication credits include the Denver Quarterly, Court Green, BlazeVOX, Bluestem, Tinderbox, Stirring, Luna Luna Magazine, Entropy, and Flapperhouse. She lives in Arlington, VA with her husband and two sons. Her website is sarahlilius.com.