Treasure Island

Matthews Welschire


The Breathing of the Dead Ear


Twisted knots within holding hands.
What is this instant form?

Smile away Elizabeth. Do not seem happy here!
Not after you explained the ribbon and ring -

Hardened carbon that sixty-two years prior
knew only you.

At this moment you hold younger hands as
systems shut down. Organs find white flags.

Younger hands open doors: code blue halls,
white-coated member mess hall: dark.

Turn my back, nesting and ill,
eyes stone bruised.
Smock and gurney and sutured whole.

The crumbs: once delicate marrow
Now ten fingers
singed in pumice, in dust
on castle wall.

This is the color of water,
the breathing of the dead ear.

I am done.
Float dust to Cerberus.

Submitted: Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 11, 2013

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