by Caitlin Cacciatore

Memento Mori

Alexander sundered the unsolvable
with a sword, yet for Hephaestion
he wept two long nights – and even he
could not order the stars to stop shining.

wars were won; love was lost.
the traitor and the fool traded
places – he vowed none would
know him as he was, before ‘Great’

was bestowed upon him, a burden
as weighty as that of the Earth,
just before it was placed upon Atlas’
trembling shoulders, adrift in a sea

of stars, all sparkling with singular
fury – wars clamor overhead, blood
runs in rivulets into the Red Sea,
the tide could still shift. Sisyphus

returns to his endless labors.
I look for you even now: that ghost
on the shore, holding my heart
in the hollow of your hands.

my tears are salt. my blood
sings. my ribs are a cage
for a bird who is startled
by the sound of her own voice.

***

When the Rains Came

tell me about her again.
the girl who swept you
away with her sophistry.

her light is too blinding to look
back upon, bright blossoming
spirals as seen from above.

she is wind dancing in your hair,
she is the eye of the storm – where
the sky is blue, the rain relents,

and there is nothing here save for
fallen leaves and a felled tree
to indicate anything occurred at all.

the bay will breach its borders.
the floods are still coming.
but for now, you hum a solemn

song of discontent and disquiet
before it is once again stolen
by the breeze as the wind lashes

down and the water rises
and you lose your voice
to the ravages of time.

silence sticks in your throat
like a piece of honeyed sap
that has not yet turned to amber.

speak now,
or you will never
know any peace.

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