Most things are not the end

Of the world. You know this.

But on this day

You can’t hold the world’s atoms together

 

Not with the muscles of your mouth

Still making the shape

Of the last thing you said to him.

 

Not with blood under fingernails

From hanging too long

Like a gymnast spinning a slow koan

Against gravity.

 

The last person you loved

Was an avalanche, dear

To you once in a way

That flattened the landscape.

 

Where does love go after

You press it into the ground

With a face full of blood and

vomit in its hair?

 

It would not be the first thing

Ever to rise from the dead.

 

You’ve done it yourself more than once,

Taught yourself how to die and come back

Between eye-blinks

Without anyone knowing.

 

Jenny Williamson

 

Jenny’s work has been featured in 24Mag, Wild River Review, Poetic Voices, and in Philadelphia’s Writing Aloud series. Jenny also received recognition from the Academy of American Poets and NPR’s Young Poets Series.

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