by Joyce Chong
to dust in the afterlife, i collect the shards of my bones from the gold dusted desert, sifting my hands through the grains & catching antiques from a past life in my fingernails. i fill my pockets with marrow, and they spill out in the night while i sleep, eyes on the moon, drowsy-drunk on the lunar light sometimes i catch signs of you in the sun-scarred palms of my handsbroken pieces from your dad's wristwatch you always wore after he died, the sound of your voice in the desert wind, pushing me, scalding me with familiarity. i find myself buried sometimes, skin pattered with sand & glass, windows for eyes; i melt to rock, dream of oceans battering my soul into a new body, into this multitude of forms. in it, the water's surge could not wrench you from me, even while my bones sank & again, i lost myself. when i wash upon the shore, the ocean fades & i collect myself once more, gathering sea-salt bones in sodden pockets, while even in the afterlife, your memory still mars AFTER THE PAUSE VOLUME 1 ISSUE 1
Published on Dec 1, 2014
The inaugural issue of After the Pause features experimental poetry, flash fiction, and visual art created by 39 artists from around the Uni...