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by Lyd Havens (a Markov Sonnet, after George Abraham) After my grandfather’s body is carried out, the hospital bed becomes a museum artifact. My mother runs outside towards the streetlights. *** The hospital bed becomes a museum artifact; my mother runs outside towards the streetlights. Meanwhile, my grandmother searches for his watch. *** My mother runs outside towards the streetlights. Meanwhile, my grandmother searches for his watch. Your grandfather will need this when he comes back, she tells me. *** Meanwhile, my grandmother searches for his watch— Your grandfather will need this when he comes back, she tells me— & I quietly beg all the clocks to forget themselves too. *** Your grandfather will need this when he comes back, she tells me, & I quietly beg all the clocks to forget themselves too. What a knife drawer of a word that’s become: forget. *** I quietly beg all the clocks to forget themselves too. What a knife drawer of a word that’s become— forget, as if we haven’t been trying to hide our unconscious wounds. *** What a knife drawer of a word that’s become: forget. As if we haven’t been trying to hide our unconscious wounds, my mother & I try to smile before we cobble the obituary. *** As if we haven’t been trying to hide our unconscious wounds, my mother & I try to smile before we cobble the obituary, but again, my grandmother asks, & again, we quietly bleed. *** My mother & I try to smile before we cobble the obituary, but again, my grandmother asks, & again, we quietly bleed, & I stain everything under the table with my confused grief. *** Again, my grandmother asks, & again, we quietly bleed, & I stain everything under the table with my confused grief. The truth becomes sharper every time it’s said aloud. *** I stain everything under the table with my confused grief. The truth becomes sharper every time it’s said aloud, & my grandmother buckles under its inevitable blade. *** The truth becomes sharper every time it's said aloud. My grandmother is buckling under inevitable blades— if only they could dull on my knowing limbs instead.  photo by Taylor Renae Johnson Lyd Havens is the author of the chapbook I Gave Birth to All the Ghosts Here (Nostrovia! Press). Their work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Ploughshares, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Glass: a Journal of Poetry, among others. They are currently an undergraduate at Boise State University, where they study creative writing and history. |