Cling - Chasity Hamilton

I stumble into the room-


the smells of formaldehyde and decay,



the music plays-

a little too low key

a little too off beat.



All around cling to

a somber silhouette

of all that will never be.



All around cling to

the arms of the living-

the last strand of reassurance.



And I,

I cling to nothing.



I walk nakedly ashamed.

I walk in a slow daze,

The dark haze.



I walk alone.



I cling to nothing

more than death’s grip

that has become you.



I cling to the memories

of time spent waiting,

waiting for you to come home.



I cling to,

The nights of camaraderie when

Mommy and “Daddy Dearest” fell apart.



I cling to the last vivid

time I remember you-



The clock blinking late night numbers,

the smell of funny smoke on your skin-

the perfume of the dying,

the red rims of your eyes,

the words you said-

“Don’t ask. Please don’t say a thing.”



You lay still,

So unnaturally still.

And I shake too much,

unnaturally so.



I lay my hot palms flat against

your frozen powdered cheeks,

hoping to transfer my life’s heat.



And I think,

Why am I so lucky?



And I think,

Didn’t I give in just as well?



You don’t look like you.

A stranger slipped into your skin.



Death the darkest strange-

lurking never too far from our hands.



And I think,

Why have I been the lucky one?



Your skin

is a pallor hue from death’s pallet.

Your skin,

looks as if to burst-

swollen with lost closure.



I stumble to death’s bedside,

the smells of formaldehyde and decay.



The music plays-

a little too low key-

a little too off beat.



All around cling to,

a somber silhouette

of all that will never be.



And I,

I cling to none.