Threnody

Threnody

 

 I  

 Slowly, with absence

 

Eighteen hours and thirty seven minutes

 

The sky is dark

And you were quiet

There is a faint suggestion of clouds in the inky blue

Amidst the blaring sirens you were still

I close my eyes, tonight there are no stars

Amidst the red lights that spilt into the hollows beneath his eyes

Tonight the world has unravelled-

You were bone cold and calm

-has come apart; is jagged, a million sharp flickering shards

That night you saw me

Is something not quite solid: a whisper? cored by the metallic hum of cicadas

You must have

The world is caught in suspension

And you walked away, slowly, into the skyline.

The world has moved without me.

  

II

 

Mechanically, with clinical celerity

 

One week, two days, three hours and forty two minutes

 

There is a white room: evaluative conversation, perusive glances, delicate questioning: encased within white square walls. 

There is an authorized certainty: a philanthropic certainty, a calm certainty: encased within the white square walls.

There is a pair of empty eyes, hollow despair trapped within these white square walls.

There is a tremulous heartbeat quivering within her white square walls.

There is monotonous agreement: a medically futile condition, an unbearable mental suffering; a well-considered, voluntary request: entombed within good intentions.

There is a white sheet of paper: three swift signatures penned with cold clarity.

There is the click of a timer being set; as they walk away with their good intentions; and the thunderous sound 

Of crumbling walls.

 

III

 

Breathing, with reminiscence

Eleven hours and forty three minutes

 

the roof was lilac, of the little wooden playhouse he built me, walls were pastel blue and

there were lace-veiled windows, placed right where i could see the glittering leaves as

they moved in the wind; the wind interlocking airily with light birdsong, floating

in a cadence free of time, carrying

me away, while the steady sound of his voice pulled back at the gravity in me, and

i watched him smile as i pretended to be fast asleep.

 

Did you think of me when you held him in your arms and walked into the skyline?

  

IV

Calm, with certainty

Four minutes

 

There is something charming in the way sunlight flickers upon the glass of honey coloured liquid

 

Something intriguing in how easily one can slip through the world's fingertips.

  

V

Pensive, hazily

 

The moment before

 

 All I know is that night, when you left, something inside me quietened.

Something trembled and collapsed.

I remember feeling the sharp jolt of my bones; every time I emerged, gasping for air that

would not fill the empty space inside me; the jolt of my bones as if they would never click back into place.

You are quiet

A soft ringing 

You are bone cold and still

A layered darkness.

 

VI

Drifting, free of time

 

The moment after

 

There is still colour in her cheeks, a youthful arch in her brow;

Still something hopeful in the gentle curve of her lips.

Softly the physician unclasps her hand; familiar whispers of doubt cloud his mind.

What is suffering?

How is it measured?

Does it justify why the same hands which have been trained to heal-

-have ended the life of one so young? 

outside the wind interlocks airily with birdsong, floating free of time,

quietly linking the world together again,

drifting free of thought; the only constant in a world always shifting in emotion,

a world iridescent in meaning; linking the world together even after being shattered and

reassembled again and again.

 

the birds still sing so for the sake of a conclusion we’ll call their song:

  

A threnody.

 

 

 

 

© 2016 Xiaole Zhan