This Is Goodbye

By Ashleigh Hatter

Lonely hill, but only lonely when I leave, and I’m still here, so it’s not lonely with me

~~here~~

and I’m glad it doesn’t mind/old man, bowed and balding head, trees are hair and turning red, grass is fed, often tread and crushed ‘neath heels, pools of water running _down, imagine how that feels – tickling? – and then surreal the <body> of this man lifting his back, Atlas tall, to push a gnat to heaven/because I like to be

~~here~~

or, at least for ~~the moment~~ now.

Sun setting, skin thick sweating, eyes batting and watching pollen twirl, revolutions and orbits – mini-worlds – defying words, my mind so amazed struck dumb and babbling, like birds all chattering, tellin’ each other, tellin’ each one, “Hey, good mornin’ y’all”, and “Hey, there’s the Sun.” And that pollen ^suspended, catching the light, resembling stars before the Night, and for a moment I’m paralyzed and don’t feel right, cause ~~eternity~~ _{the future} something out of time is staring at me. And sitting

~~here~~

makes what I see all too real, all too possible, all too real for me.

And the Sun keeps sinking, just like my thinking, and ~~“No, hun, I haven’t been drinking”~~ I can’t help considering how a life so covered in blinking bulbs; how a jeweled hand could smash everyone of them – broken <body>ies tinkling on the pavement – then cry when there’s no more light.

~~All the lights’ve gone out and it’s my own doing, result of my own mind brewing, result of all this poison stewing – blessing and privilege thrown to~~ ~~the floor. “Let some~~ <body> ~~else clean it up.”~~

Then that candle in the ^sky, snuffs out and the carpet above is stained with wine blood, purple that bruises and smears to charcoal black.

There’s nothing left to see. So, I follow suit, ~~and say ^goodbye~~. Cause this is one <body> that don’t belong

~~here~~