The Wake

Joleen Long

snow
vomited
meat.

he fell.

I could do nothing.

Why kill man?
He’s cold enough.

Suppose this was a garden in his consciousness,
a maid who couldn’t see the teahouse with one arm
two men and a maid to the garden
imagine the smell

but my distance was done,
he slumped to the unconscious.

I whispered to his conscious

quietly I enjoyed this sort of evening in mind

a matter of mind. It’s in mind
hope that doesn’t die

again.