My mother speaks to me from the grave, again

My mother speaks to me from the grave, again

My mother speaks to me from the grave, again 1920 1037 Jill Khoury

Have you noticed lately
your sagging pinions?

A decrease of nectar
in the neckskin. Stomach

like a blank sack, a slack
snap. Those duck feet,

paddling mad. From down
here, I see how you straddle

the ledge of ambition.
Know this: no leap

can be calculated,
no distance exactly measured.

Climb down. Dig your hole.
I know your sadness bleeds

inward, like a nick in the wrist
made more sick by your picking.

Lay next to me.
Reach through dirt

and hold my hand, Princess,
though my skinrot sloughs

toward you like a loose glove.
I’m lonely. Aren’t you?

Header photograph © Jackie Mantey.

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  • Published: Photos in Barren Magazine – Jackie Mantey 02/18/2019 at 12:00 pm

    […] sweet. I really love the piece (“My Mother Speaks to Me From The Grave, Again” by Jill Khoury) paired with my image of snow […]

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