like raining frogs & dead crickets,
argued that morning, & baby
poured soup in her hair.
You said I’m down to the pier,
don’t like this stuffy house,
& I said, when are you
coming back? & then
a blanket of ash & gravel
choked us. We were jammed
together on the floor
& found later in puzzle
pieces, stiff & covered
in crap. & if we had known
we could go that quick,
we would have done
that morning differently,
skipped breakfast, walked
to the ocean, watched
pink starfish in tidepools
& sat together with warm arms
touching, heartbeats synced.
& how I would have loved
to watch the grey ferocious
tidal wave come in,
like I had created this last
spectacular vision just
for us. Don’t screw
with my memories.
It happened. Let the last
minnows fall from
the sky like hopeless confetti,
too jagged & sad to know
what they’re even doing.
Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Wrongdoing Magazine, Twin Pies, Book of Matches, Drunk Monkeys and Corporeal Lit. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group, “Free Time,” that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2.
photo by Nenad Spasojevic (via unsplash)
Crow & Cross Keys 