Walk With Me Into Oblivion
Evelyn Jey
When I can no longer write,
When I have not the strength
To put fingers to keys, or
Ink to thinly sliced wood
When I go silent
You will be there, speaking
My ghosted lyrics
In my brain
Blue, and wet, and raw
Sending your ancestors’ words
Through my dead veins and my stagnant blood,
Whispering waves into
My shoulder blades,
Resonating,
Echoing off of me,
Writing a poem no one else can hear.
Singing,
Just us,
Like birds in clumsy joyful flight,
Too giddy to stop
For something so trivial
As a raging
Hot
Volcano.
