“You were really beautiful, thank you”- Nick Cave

The road unwound like
a long-held breath,
its rhythm soft as
the heartbeat of stone.

She leaves the earth of
Mesas behind, red dust
curling in the rearview,
the bones of
old places.

The sky is wide enough
for her grief tonight,
stretching taut,
bruised with stars,
a canvas for memories
she cannot bury.

She drives east, a hymn
to the unbroken road.
Her body a map,
etched in ink, scar,
and story, a nurse’s hands,
a wanderer’s soul.

But grief does not shake;
it settles, heavy
as a stone,
silent as the wind.

The sky stretches endless,
its wounds glowing
faint in the
morning light.

She breathes it in,
the ache, the wonder,
the endless gathering
of what is lost
and what remains.

She wonders if she
could reach up,
pluck her sorrow
from the heavens
and hold it like
a wildflower,
its petals torn
but still fragrant,
resting on graves.

to something,
she can’t
yet
name.

© Si Matta

The broken backs of woman
who watched silently each
Spring as the children sprouted
like weeds on the prairie.

They were twins split
apart by lighting and
bad fathers. With each sound
laughter forgot its
Namesake. The life of
Fire.

Tender now stories held
in bad bones, marrow evaporates
from the thirst of light
consumed. The dry mouth
of aging.

Lost form and skin that feels
like dust. They learn to speak
On death beds, the only safety
She knew.

“Go outside, my child,
Before you forget your name.”

© Si Matta

“There’s a little black spot on the sun today..”- The Police

There was a time
when the clanking
of bones rattled
this old house.

Now dust collects,
like a yearning
for mars.

Given to
hysteria.

There is a mad glow
in the sky
tonight.

That’s my
soul up
there.

© Si Matta