BY ASHLEY MARES
PSALM OF SCATTERED ASHES
Before I give you
my body tell me
if you've ever killed
before: if you've ever watched
the world burn
from the windowsill
of your home. Because
the girl was trying
to say she couldn’t swim
when an unholy man
pushed her into
the river. The body’s dying
is never done but
sometimes dirtied hands
speed up the process.
Sweet thing, I think
we can sweeten
our bodies with wine,
with prayers
when we can’t remember
all the things we’ve
done with our hands:
Lord, call me
out of the darkness.
Lord, blessed are
those who weep
alongside the
drying river—
who unearth
the unnamed bones.
Sweet thing, before you learn
the rhythm
of my pulse: the moment
it starts and
stops: tell me, did you notice
the way my body is held
together? With silk
ties and sharp
knives: Sweet thing, I use
them often. When
the girl became glass
her prayers drowned
Lord, aren’t we
too much
for this: must we go
in and out
of each other so
effortlessly, so
painfully. But let’s
not talk about that: instead,
tell me, when you’re up there—
looking out, out far
out your window:
are you thinking
of all the ways
you could fall? I don’t mind
feeling the heartbeat
of a man who’s scared.
So tell me, before I give you
my body: have you ever burned
grief but found yourself
unable to brush
the ashes off
your skin—I know
the feeling. This familiar
holiness—this ritual
for the lost. Tell me, while
the air is still loose
between our fingers, loose
around our
necks: is the
blood on your hands
dry? Is it slowly
disappearing? Mine isn’t.
Ashley Mares is the author of Maddening Creatures (Aldrich Press, forthcoming),The Deer Longs for Streams of Water (Flutter Press) and A Dark, Breathing Heart (dancing girl press). Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Stirring, Whiskey Island, Sugar House Review, Glass Poetry Press, Prelude, PANK, and others. She is currently completing her J.D. in Monterey, Ca, where she lives with her husband. Read more of her poetry at ashleymarespoetry.wordpress.com and follow her @ash_mares2.