by Elisabeth Horan
For why not; God’s been joking with us
All the while; He whispers placation
In our ears, plants lust for the sinner’s
Alcoholic slide, leaves dust where a
Mother, her child, she should find.
My loss, and melancholy, were it not
For our friendship, would be funny,
Really, I laugh at the nose of death –
Pointy carrot, liar of a stretch; told me
You might live, when in fact, the stench
Of you is all around. My coffee today
Reeked of the illness and drinking it
I felt you drown, my intestines so useful
For quieting the sounds of such wretched loss
At your graveside, I consider, what I
Could have done different – smiled
At your jokes, reminded God, how
Much I needed you to be alive. But I
Forgot. And now the slide. The loss —
And melancholy – I take no such luck
In being still here on this ground – so
Ugly my smile, and so disgustingly alive.
Editor’s Note: This poem appears in Elisabeth’s collection Odd list Odd house Odd me, now available from Twist in Time Press and Amazon. Many thanks to the Twist in Time team for permission to publish it here!
Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain – especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. Elisabeth is Lead Editor at Animal Heart Press and glides along as Co-Editor of IceFloe Press, Toronto.
She recently earned her MFA from Lindenwood University and received a 2018 Best of the Net Nomination from Midnight Lane Boutique and a 2018 Pushcart Nomination from Cease Cows. She has books coming out in 2019 with Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, Rhythm & Bones Press, Flypaper Magazine, and Hedgehog Poetry Press.
Follow her on Twitter @ehoranpoet or connect on her website ehoranpoet.com.
(And for more from the odd house, see our book review here, and don’t miss Elisabeth’s Barren—not of Words. – Elephants Never)