Darling Reaper

A Disappearing Virtual Poetry (Micro)Chapbook

by Jen Persici

Thinking about my inevitable death

and how in another life I was better, kinder, less... less filled to the brim with sin, minerals and toxic shiny metal, in another life hundreds came to my funeral, thousands if we count the weeping willows and each fallen flower petal. Gentler hands probably held me then and here, in this life, I see many calloused fist clench still standing on the battlefield, fighting for sun, long past hiding in the trench. millions if we count the forgivable rain. And the echo of dewdrops on petals. together they washed and dried me, and bled red when I took my final breath. I am the wound on their gumline that would heal if they just stopped taking a hit. I am the cut on their hands that would heal if they stopped picking at it. In another life They have less worries, No dark circles under their eyes, they're soft hands shake less. In another life they aren't constantly cleaning up a mess. . I am the scar they don't remember getting. They are the scars i won't be forgetting.

Wolf Smile

he has a smile that says "you may know her blooming, but i know everything else. i know of blood and broken bone. of two am night sweats and the exact tone to use to hush hush the screams away. that sometimes her aura is all tinged blue and lovely. i know what makes her come undone and unbecoming. that her voice right before she cries sounds like sweet humming. that after a hunt she prefers to have her thumbs kissed and the blood on her jawbone to be slowly licked. to know her faults and mistakes, wrongs and rights, and to love her all despite. that i cannot write another word without feeling her name on my lips and when she knows this she'll breathe in echo with my ribs. that i hear her mantras in the wind and feel her blood and spit has soaked permanently into my skin. i have seen her through a decade of winters and kissed her true cold. in turn, she devours me whole.”

How I speak of you

he asked me "how do you think of me? how do you describe me to people? do you speak of me?" he doesn't know that i think of everyone every day because i am quiet and that's what quiet people do. i want to tell him that to me he is the rebirth of Spring, after seeing me through Winter. thawing. clutching but not clawing; back to the Sun. that to me he is the picture of a picnic in Summer that I stared at all Winter, a cup of tea for you for me. now Summer is here my dear and i get to stare at flocks of starlings and marvel at the tan line of my wedding ring. I can cut a perfect flower for everyone i love to take home and show the people that hold them at night and still have enough flowers to keep me company in the moon light. i'm wildly lonely and wildly loved and somehow both things are true. i fall in love with his slow walking, his serious eyes, his look that says "try that again i dare you". i fall in love with his humor his eager his tired his home. i love him even when I sit here alone. i fall in love with his sweetness, the flowers in his cheeks, his dancing, his strength even when weak. i will forever stare at his mouth when he speak. i will forever give him bursts of cleaning up our mess.  i will forever tell him "i'm still in love with you" when he asks me to confess. i will forever fall in love with the way he tames summer storms. he is winter bones brave enough to stay inside and stay warm. he is autumn blends of reds and warm sun hues. sunshine still clinging to skin and a skyfire calmed with true blue. i'll wait forever and then some my love. i'll see you through a decade of seasons, i’ll try my best and hope it's enough.

Darling Reaper

i like to think that at the end of this life, he and i will have one final battle. i will finally break "no contact" (its full contact now love) the last thing I hear will be your final death rattle. we will go hit for hit, cut for cut, and both know mine will be deeper. the last thing you'll see before the darkness claims you, will be my face, your darling grim reaper. i'll whisper in your ear, "i will hold your first death, and set you free." and you'll say, "this is my second death by you, it was the longing inside that first killed me.”

A Wolf Sees Hunger

as an ache that happens in the body. i know hunger can be tricked and ignored, tucked away and stored. i carry with me the generational hunger of daughters. something engrained like boulders softened by water. a hunger carved out of my mother’s throat, who taught me to be unasking and quiet and to do what i'm told. she cut it from her mother's broken ribs, seasons of starving. declining a second helping of all basic needs. she pulled it from the frail teeth of her mother whose body ran out of nutrients and pulled where it could, skin and teeth. i hold my hunger clenched in my fist... it whispers for me take less... i have studied endlessly the art of denying. afraid that if i start to consume i will throw a lasso around her in the night, pull it down, and devour the entire moon.

BIO: Jen Persici is an Athabaskan Gwi'chin poet living on san juan island, WA. More of her work can be found on Instagram at @jenpersici