The Maynard
Fall 2019

0:00

 

 

after a suicide
                             for Jayme

there is no right thing to do.
i pissed on the church
you had done the same to

twenty years ago. i inherited
no piss for the next three hours.
i wasn’t even drunk. on the walk home

the first branch of a rabbit
split on the road this season.
the powerline maintenance sawed

two dozen trees down the next morning.
weeks later, the stumps. a pyrite afterbirth
from the removal.

i want to piss into the mounds
where a hole should have been.
let there be some flower or fungus

dumb enough to grow in my creases.
let there be a rain uncaring enough
to wriggle a garden from our places, our piss.

let there be nothing left to remember us
by, but what we leave behind more than
any other thing.