by Ashley Sapp
hello mo(u)rning,
your cold dew leaves a trail upon my skin,
and I bear witness to how your weight waits
to be seen by dawn, warmed by it, lightened
by it, even consumed by it; new day, I am told,
is a new beginning, but bereavement is a cycle –
a new day, yes, but also a new grief, a reminder
of absence, and so I run my finger through your
wetness before it disappears, ingested, a slide
of continuance across the skin I am swathed in,
and I watch my body’s thirst for relief and closure
as though I cannot feel the prunes of my finger-
tips after diving in, cannot decipher the difference
between the coil of thoughts and the coil of shape,
the abstract and the physical parallel lines that
travel away, (far, far away), from here, so I
lie in bathed grass, consuming earthly goods
above as you do buried below — it is as close as
I can get without deciding death for myself, too.
is this not a good morning, good mourning?
Ashley Sapp resides in Columbia, South Carolina, with her husband and furbaby. She earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from the University of South Carolina in 2010 and has written for various publications. She is a bibliophile who enjoys traveling, tattoos, and a good pun or two (or three). She has two collections: Wild Becomes You and Silence Is A Ballad. She can be found on Instagram or Twitter.