August 20, 2020.
i whisper to the dead things
i whisper to the dead things
i can't entirely help it, i feel like death becomes lonely
the sparrows and finches i find on these crumbling country roads
beautiful feathers near broken beer bottles, rubber, and lingering souls
i tell them sorry like that will bring them back
these evening walks become funerals
these wildflowers, i can't even get the strength to pick them for respect
there has been enough death for today, i bet
i take stiff butterflies inside my home and lay them so they can rest
i gift them honey, lavender, and rose petals to show there is kindness at least in death
i take in the small bones I find and clean them in hydrogen peroxide
so later when I throw them like dice, they will tell me where my future lies
i believe it is important to have open conversations with death
i think our old lives linger even after we say these goodbyes
we are stuck staring at familiarity and analyzing life
and when we have absorbed enough, we rise
here is to my worms who refuse to die
who when broken apart create more than one life
here is to the stray black cats who wander through busy city streets
to the unfortunate souls with a lucky streak
they can't just kill us and we keep popping up
we're dandelions and chameleon plants, we're resilient and tough
these vultures they circle around us and we pretend it's our halo
circle of life, circle of death, die to be born again
i whisper to the dead things and they tell me what they know
they force me to view ugly truths and to accept decay in order to find growth
it is easy to wave a finger at a grim reaper, it is hard to let go
i guide these spirits on their trip back to life and they teach me to not fear but to hope
Poetry by aidan haskel
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Written on 2020-08-21 at 01:38
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