In the blooming gloom of this canopied tomb
there is a seven foot stretch of space
sinking six feet into the ground
And nearby hangs the
loop of a noose
that I can never let go
The petals of his dead skin
flake from my palms like dried carnations
as I prepare to swallow this sword
one
final
time
It is in these quiet moments
amid the rows of headless roses
that I am reminded of
The great, gray boy
who could not really dance
yet somehow always kept me spinning
I long for his yellow hair
his clumsy hands
and most especially
his green and
gleaming
bones
As I call out one last goodbye to him
there comes a rumble
from deep within his soft plot of earth
And all around me
the air shimmers and bends
with the thundering voice
of a God
Lisa Nohner is originally from Minnesota, and is an English Instructor at LSU. She specializes in teaching horror rhetoric and cinema. She holds an MFA from NMSU in Creative Writing: Prose. Her poems have been published Shit's Fucked Magazine, as well as in SJZ Vol. 1, 2, & 4. Some of her short fiction has appeared in Psychopomp magazine as well as Automata Review.