in lieu of flowers
by Rachael Gay
in lieu of flowers
i am reading my own obituary &
they have gotten all the dates wrong.
i broke my ankle & the car balanced on the edge of a crumbling cliff road
no guardrails on either side, climbing slowly to get to me.
& after all that it still didn't heal right.
when i can't find my car in the crowded parking lot
i press the panic button & follow the sound of the alarm until i get in
& still i do not turn it off.
i never notice the smoldering, only the high reaching flames.
in my ears a spiraling fullness matches the level of thoughts
until my brain bursts at the seams an overstuffed pillow beat down by
the tossing & turning of another sleepless night.
i am desperate to cry but the mucus coating my throat is too thick to let sound pass through.
every time a librarian passes by i am afraid they will kick me out.
tell me that my tightly wound silence is still far too much,
reteach me how to shrink myself. a perfect orb of saliva drips from the corner
of my mouth & reflects rainbow prismatic.
contents of the sharps container arranged around me like a
sand mandala too dangerous to sweep away but just as ephemeral.
i never signed over permission to the universe to use my name & likeness
but it is plastered everywhere i look even the insides of my eyelids.
loneliness is flipping to the index first & running your finger down the left side of the page
until you find your own name & see just a single number next to it.
Rachael Gay
Rachael Gay is a poet and artist living in Fargo, North Dakota. Her work has appeared in Anti-Heroin Chic, Quail Bell, Rag Queens, Déraciné Magazine, Gramma Poetry, FreezeRay Poetry, Rising Phoenix Review and others.