Life Is But

Emily Dolan

 

I.

 It was too bright for nighttime
Though the clocks in the trees
Said otherwise

Their faces locked in scowl as
They ticked, growing more

 more

                 more

 Devilish with every second dead

 The path was lined by shrubs
With lacrimal buds that bloomed

 Thick tears

                 with afterglows like satin

 That fell in petal-rains

as
                they
                                aged

Pushed out by the next one
Bleeding up from the stems
Their whimpers stifled in
The mossy earth

 The birds overhead                               

                                flew

backwards

 Their songs – scraping metal warbles
Stitched by clumsy needles
To their throats

 There’s a melody in there
                 somewhere
 But when I think I’ve
                                 found it, the tune changes
 To squealing brakes on pavement
littered with the bushes’ tears
 To flies fighting for the
last bite of beef

 To the teetering quiet
before the plunge  

 

II.                                   

When I reached the lake –
 

                it smelled like freshly doused fires

                and stared like mirrors do-

 

                never blinking-

 

And stepped up to it’s banks

The clocks looked on

 

              bringing together their

 

minutes and                          hours hands,

 

                    in                               happy

               

                             applause

 

The

                trees

shook

                their

heads

 

When I stepped in, I felt nothing

 

                but vague denseness

 

                                around my ankles

 

                and sandy fingers

                               

                                interlacing with my

                                                toes, pulling my feet

                                                                                forward

 

                Any ripples were forced into submission

By some invisible force –

 

fear, maybe –

 

The lake stayed steady

 

                as I waded

 

                                deeper,

                                                deeper

 

                                                                Until it licked my throat –

 

                                -A teasing knife cloaked

                                in velvet-

 

 

It traced my chin and jaw

Taking its time 

 

                slowly

 

                                slowly

 

                                I relished the contact

 

                – I begged for one more pass –

 

Before I filled my lungs and

 

                                – plunged –

 

 

III.

 

The clocks couldn’t hear my screaming

The trees judged someone else

The birds kept their songs to themselves

 

The shrubs kept crying – knowing nothing –

 

The air in my lungs

Was replaced by

Shredded glass and honey 

 

My eardrums wobbled with

The pressure of cicada songs and

Bomb blasts without any

Of the noise

               

The lake unsheathed it’s sickle

 

And I prayed for a dream

 

Better than

 

This

 

One



 

 

***

Emily Dolan is a 25 year old poet currently living in Sevilla, Spain. After completing her biology degree in 2016, she moved to Europe in pursuit of a professional soccer career. She has prior poetry and fiction publications in the Mangrove Review, and has publications forthcoming in CircleShow and Inklette.