Here, I dig a grave for songbirds
beheaded by a hawk. The hawk
blots out the sun above me –
hello, harbinger of doom.
Elsewhere, my shadow spells misfortune
for those below. On earth, above, or buried;
Known and unknown in known and unknown places,
Step in spectral dog vomit, invent a new omen.
Lose a sock to atmosphere, devise a way to die.
Trip on phantom particles, curse myself Queen
of the Everywhere.
Find a penny in my armpit, create a new religion.
Wake up where I left you, build a statue for the sand.
Land somewhere familiar, crown myself Queen
of the Everywhere
There I am,
the dog, the vomit, and the doom.
A statue, sock, crown, and Queen.
I am pennies. I am particles. I am sand.
I am my own religion, songbirds on their way to Where.
And I am also, always,
by Emily Laubham
Editor’s Note: While seemingly chaotic on the surface, the repetition of this poem’s central imagery is the thread that a reader can use to unravel its emotional framework of persistence.