Lullaby of the Exothermic Chemical Process of Combustion
A toxicology report confirms:
this macrocosm does not care for him.
Not even passing thoughts from passersby.
The news could paint a beautiful painting
of boys turned men too soon. They don’t. Instead,
every young man just taken from this place;
crude diamorphine, semi-synthetic
piss seeping into depressed souls. Do we
decide to give in, to ignore? Both hurt.
And after, huddling round a casket frame
of cardboard: stupid, bending bullshit box.
Can’t breathe deeply enough to handle this.
Some inadvertent, accidental blend
of cremated remains from the residues
of previous cremations is possible.
But, I am not afraid of fire today.
The oven burning sins, concealing with
a glaze of all mistakes he made, the scorns
he caused, turned back on him. Hurts, doesn’t it?
He now knows the blistering heat we’ve felt.
His own remains the weight of just four pounds,
yet heavy is the mass of this: losing
and losing, and I can’t wait to be lost
so I can find him. Will he be alone?
Is someone there to hold him when he’s too
far gone? When his eyes drip, droop, drop;
still ruining family dinners now.
I hope his eyes are open there. There, there,
momma says with her hands, not gentle here.
I don’t want to let go of you, you might
leave, too. I just might. Now, I am sorry
for us, not him. He is safe in the arms
of God or Death or Sleep. The big question:
where is he and why is he gone? This fight
against the fight is tiring for us all.
Aren’t you tired, boy? God, let us sleep with him.
Anna Leonard is an Atlanta-based 21-year-old graduate from Virginia Commonwealth University with a Bachelor's degree in Theatre and a concentration in Performance. She cultivated an interest in writing through dissecting plays and chose to adopt a minor in Creative Writing. She is an avid singer-songwriter with music out on Spotify, Apple Music, etc. and aims to create pieces dedicated to sincerity.