jughead-is-canonically-aroace:thedearidiot:- Ollie Schminkey, My Father. [ID: three screenshots of a
jughead-is-canonically-aroace:thedearidiot:- Ollie Schminkey, My Father. [ID: three screenshots of a poem. the poem is in two columns, labeled “alive” and “dead”, which can be read separately or together. i will transcribe them in order: left only, right only, and together. the poem is 34 lines long1:alivehe walks throughthe treesthe sunsifting throughhis beardherei amjust a kida father withhis favorite childhe looksso muchlike a dadhere we are:birds flyinga pulsing rivera ravenous picnicand that smile,a mouth wide open,his childnewly awakenedwrapped around his necklike rosary beadsclinging tohis bodyi loved him long beforei learnedof his body failingand i held him sotrusting thatmy loveisenough2:deadmy dreams every nightturn to spiders that all have his face. thereis a campfire burning out, and me,the white dust ofonly ash in my hands.in the real world,standing next to his bedagain— he doesn’t look likea body about to burnto piecesdeadsilence— no voice, only an echonot quite gone yet.the pills aredown his throat, the morphineinto his stomach, his bodyonly for the disease,the wound across his back becomesfilled with blood, and me,standing next to the body.grief has handstwistedtightening in prayer:the last breathlike a final ameni could speakthe prayera thousand ways—still,god will answer foronly godneverfor the living.3:alive — deadhe walks through my dreams every nightthe trees turn to spiders that all have his face. therethe sun is a campfire burning out, and me,sifting through the white dust ofhis beard only ash in my hands.here in the real world,i am standing next to his bedjust a kid again— he doesn’t look likea father with a body about to burnhis favorite child to pieceshe looks deadso much silence— no voice, only an echolike a dad not quite gone yet.here we are: the pills arebirds flying down his throat, the morphinea pulsing river into his stomach, his bodya ravenous picnic only for the disease,and that smile, the wound across his back becomesa mouth wide open, filled with blood, and me,his child standing next to the body.newly awakened grief has handswrapped around his neck twistedlike rosary beads tightening in prayer:clinging to the last breathhis body like a final ameni loved him long before i could speaki learned the prayerof his body failing a thousand ways—and i held him so still,trusting that god will answer formy loveonly godis neverenough for the living.end ID] This is achingly beautiful and brilliantly done. 3 in one, like the Christian trinity of god the father, Jesus the son, and the Holy Ghost between them. -- source link