In My Dreams, You Are Still Dying
In my dreams, you are still dying, but I leave the room, miss the moment of your departure. You shuffle about, reluctant. Eyes downcast, you cling to chairs and walls, then stumble. I am unable to catch you: your frail body runs through my fingers like water. I scatter your ashes along the Pacific, at the edge of your savage homeland that spit you out like a seed. You never felt good enough to be anywhere. Each house was too small, each workplace untenable. Now, indifferent waves accept your fragments without question, turning what’s left of you into sand. I am doomed to a body: that familiar bulk with its animal vexations. I tow its weight and pay for its maintenance. The void has swallowed your remains, like you always knew it would. Each star holds one of your molecules. The ocean will wash away the rest.
Leah Mueller is the author of ten prose and poetry books. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Glint, Midway Journal, Citron Review, The Spectacle, Miracle Monocle, Outlook Springs, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, etc. It has also been featured in trees, shop windows in Scotland, poetry subscription boxes, and literary dispensers throughout the world. Her flash piece, “Land of Eternal Thirst” will appear in the 2022 edition of Sonder Press’ “Best Small Fictions” anthology. Visit her website at www.leahmueller.org.
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