Monday, September 20, 2010

suicide seat

when the call came, it surprised me, leaving me wondering how long he knew, how to find me. did he wait, patiently until now, when i was just beginning to feel settled? the voice on the phone said,

"god is dead, can you come home?"

i dropped the phone, listening to it clatter, as i relearned how to breathe, for the first time in years.

god is dead.

now, i sit in the suicide seat, the same one my daddy did, lamenting what he did to me, when the shotgun spoke to his head, leaving, like shavings from its eraser, blood and brain---
matters little, just another way of him stealing my opportunity to hate and say what needed to said.

how am i supposed to feel anyway? remorse, no.

i pick petals off the lilies, someone sent to sit by his grave, tossing them on the floor, crushing them with the toe of my shoe, hoping their smell masks his. mumbling daisy songs...loves me not. loves me. not.


the trigger whispers comfort to my finger for a

"follow me. come to me, sweetie."

no, i will not be so careless. no, i will be much more elegant in my partaking in passing. now is not my time. i wonder if you got hard, running your tongue around the rim of the barrel before discharge. that would be just like you. did you quote scripture again, just to make yourself feel better?

no. i will not go with you, there, too much like getting back into bed with you all over again. this time for all eternity.

no. this time, 'no' means it, and you can't even hear it.

no, living is my victory, the hammer to the nails, in the lid
of your coffin, wishing it
was your head.

is it supposed to feel this good,
when a god lies dead?

hopefully, they will at least have good food, at the reception,
i think,
tossing the stems to the floor.

The Tenth Daughter of Memory.


  1. There are a handful of moments in this that are, like, "Pow!"

    Keep that mind cracking. This is an intriguing place.

  2. You use whitespace superbly! This is an engrossing mix of poetry and prose. Istruggled with the petals on the floor rather than the earth, until I realised he wasn't lowered down yet.

    I struggle with how the protagonist feels an inevitabiiity about following suit. The lack of personal growth from generation to generation, but see it all around me.

    I like this.

  3. This is a nice continuation of the story. I felt the anger in the narration, and because of Silence. lies. broken., I shared it. Good job.

  4. Interesting piece. "...the trigger whispers comfort to my finger for a heartbeat" reached out and grabbed me!

  5. even though it's short, i really like this piece's supercharged feel....and the image of crushed lily petals is quite haunting. agree with julie, this is a chimera of prose and poetry

  6. I very much liked this piece... Nice visuals... Nice anger...

  7. this one needs to be continued friend, very deep,moving....dark

  8. intense lines~

    "no, living is my victory, the hammer to the nails, in the lid
    of your coffin, wishing it
    was your head."

    i love the twist to the funeral - it was her celebration, her freedom ~