at the crosswords
at the crosswords
by Julian DeWees
at the brink
standing
a fortress of a body
lines mark skin blue
spine chills shrill whirlwinds
in the mirror-pond
earthly reality
smothered in her clay
of reds and pastel
muscles rippling tides
blood sweeps the air with iron vice
whiskey burned
snuffed by whispers
clenched fist
broken knuckles
shattered mind
twisted
thrown
bobbed
on white capped seas
ribs snap
twigs under foot
rearrange this cosmic clusterfuck
into crosswords being cracked
by singing elders
with splinted hands
fumbled thoughts
as explained by the diagnosis
dr. so and so scribbled
so the nurse has to squint
on the distal aspect
of her silver tongue
venom drips through her
smiling teeth
dr. so and so breathes
in through his whistling nostril
clinking trays
beyond those milky eyes
behind filthy broken lenses
is an infant wanting
to be held
soothed
and rocked to sleep
beyond comfort
so azriel may sing
raven wings
silken songs
black birds perch
fly away
altruistic directions
peace at last
peace
peace
peace at last
nursing home
nurses
with healing hands
voices calm
help us rest
final
dream
nurse
at your side
cries
with primal
vibration
the soul released
at the recoil
of
death.
A strung-out narrative of dying from what could be the accident of birth itself, envisioned first with painful water imagery and then “at the crosswords” under “singing elders” of a nurse and doctor, whose song is that of azriel, the angel of death, leading “us” then “you” (more personalized) back to infancy to “rest” in “peace.” Terrible at the beginning for the “cosmic clusterfuck” life is, it progresses to a calmer, if unsettling, end. Quite a vision.