funeral flowers

we don’t know what to say,
or, we don’t know how
to say what we want
to say, there aren’t words
for how we feel or at least
we’ve never heard them before,
never had to hiss them through
our gritted teeth, our trying-to-be-
strong-jaws. his father’s face
is rippling.
we look at the ground
or the sky. you smell mothballs
& formaldehyde.

the room’s a cavernous
mouth of deficient murmurs &
insufficient apologies.
untranslatable grief.
you keep your sorrys
warm & wet &
next to your crowded teeth.

in the quiet basement bathroom
where the slideshow … isn’t playing
you take the wallpaper
tack the wilted
flowers … to your cheeks
until it sogs … and stays
pray
it will act
like novocain

you come up … with a throatful
of orchids, petals … velvet
violent … white … smattered
in inkbled reds you keep tasting–
metal, iron, the chain of his bike–
& seeing … behind … your … eyes.

orchid
moves through your mouth
like a howl, a moan.
makes your lips an O
wider … than mourning
like the sky …… cracking open
………………………… raw … with … dawn.

the sun worships all through the night.

we are avoiding trigger
words, so you keep babbling about
these damned lovely
flowers strewn
around … the wilting room.
the room … is drenched … in orchid
…………….. we weep … the place … dry
his mother cries
from a heap of battered flowers
………….. there are too many,
………….. too much
………………………….. please
………….. take them home
………………………….. for ourkid
………………………….. we can’t take
………….. all of this
………………………….. home—

we parse it all out,
we take our share of orchids.

you get home with your little flowers
………….. and memorial candle.

you get home with your little
………….. grief & unpetal its head–
………….. burning
each on the neck of memory.

*

We Are Nowhere & It’s Now

it was unutterably foggy, which stirs me
more into thinking it all a misremembering,
a dream mistaken for a day.
…………… remember?
the farmhouse we went to once &
lived in forever?

the driveway was a long cream thing, floating
up the dust of Ole Lukøje & on the left
deer waltzed unafraid, in all their
stunning & bizarre
grace, tongues rolling
like Lake Erie’s waves
that day we sat in silence & sand
to keep from fighting.

you were only ever afraid of two things:
stinkbugs & loneliness.
I loved to be alone,
…………… met you,
………………………. & forgot.

that day was the end of a film–
dusklight & the spinning record of Bright Eyes,
the deer grazed, laughter blazed
& in places sunlight cut through the grey
in distinct rays. we cleaned out
your grandmother’s van
of mannequin heads & empty
cups of Ramen. we found ghosts
we’d forgotten.

we arranged trinkets
on your new vanity, … faked
to make a home … creaked
up the stairs to rooms unusually
cold & windows mosaiced in bugs,
itching towards the sun.
I knew you
would run. I followed
you back down, the stairs
threatening … not to hold us.

you made coffee specifically
to cradle the Vonnegut mug
between thumb & forefinger,
discovered and swooned over,
red with orange letters,
Breakfast of Champions.
we forgot it was a house
for your dad post-divorce,
….. we forgot how much he hurt you
…………… & that we might have to leave,
…………… & for a moment
it was ours,
away
from all our brewed chaos–we drank
acidic coffee with Bailey’s,
fed fawns from the warm palms
of our hands.

*

Molly

While the guys & I were all
professing our passions in that room
built of bottles ….. I found you
in the bathroom holding your own
breasts, your own gaze in the mirror, crying, breaking
your arms into your own embrace;
wrapped up in your passion
project: learning to love yourself.
In the other room they had my heart open
on the bed, mining poems
for a way to get to me.
The bathroom tile cold & clammy
I sat back against it, limbs loose &
vibrating, letting
go of my self ….. watching
while you found & held yours
like a buoy.

***

Camille Ferguson lives in and loves Cleveland, Ohio, with its thriving literary scene and hub of creatives. Camille studies creative writing at Cleveland State University where she recently received the Neal Chandler Creative Writing Enhancement Award. Her work is featured in Ligeia Magazine and Jelly Bucket, and is forthcoming in Qu Lit Mag and Drunk Monkeys.