Residual Sadness by Beth Gordon

I’ve got this thing
about death not by choice
I promise you but like a television-
drama stalker he sits on my front porch and tells me
that he loves me beyond reason you can’t stay mad
I brought you roses two dozen to be exact.  I make art
from obituaries novels filled with the precise flavor of dead
baby breath we feel so foolish we just heard about it and when
we offered you a shot of whiskey we had no idea. I’ve given up on time
time is my tormentor stop trying so hard lie down comfort yourself
with facts we didn’t bury her didn’t dig a hole didn’t sacrifice
her lovely body to the worms.   It always takes longer than
you think the drive to the coast the wait in airport
security removing your shoes and belt the night
before Christmas the day that passes without
a single thought for the departed.

Beth Gordon
Beth spends most Friday nights in the home of her friends, JD and Dale, drinking wine and writing about drinking wine. After doing this for a couple of years, they decided to see if anything they had written might entertain other people. Her work has recently appeared in Into the Void, Calamus Journal, Slink Chunk Press, Five:2:One, Barzakh, Dime Show Review, Drunk Monkeys, Rabble Lit, Black Napkin Press, After the Happy Hour and others.
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