Funny to call it that, but when the soul journeys out from the body,
What else lies on the table but that which is enduring the cutting?
Like a lamb at the market providing only the choicest meat for observation.
My soul resonates with Douglas Adams’ quote, yet stubbornly butts up against it, as my usual week, my usual time, my rest-seeking soul fights the dullness of the nine-to-five “assurance” of the world which calls me “wrong” for creating, “right” for stressing, and “weird” for seeking more than assurance that paychecks come and exhaustion reigns.
There are two light bulbs shining in the room
like two fixed eyes in a reflection.
Already the person has disappeared
and there is a thud in your head.
It’s like the sound of time passing.
It’s like the echo that would reach you
in advance of your own future death.
We cover the globe with hands outstretched,
palms naked and dirty from ash
lying on our backs, looking at the sky as the spark of life leaps from our eyes.
Mouth opened for the sky;
that’s the you who’s new, who I keep in mind.
Waves of our mothers and fathers flow by,
grazing our toes in this sand of wartime.
Welcome to the new season of the MockingOwl Roost's themed issues. We're launching the year with an uplifting issue themed on joy. Read along for joy in unusual and unexpected moments, every day life, and much more in the beautiful short stories, creative nonfiction, poetry, artwork, and more.