This is still life.

She is still born. Still, she was born. This is
still life.

Her phantom flutters your belly and you no longer
need to sleep on your

so still, you lie

flat on your back, palms on skin are flat, for the
first time.

Willing and wallowing

Defeated, deflated. With hallowed eyes, we’re
willing your crawl back to

to release your sighs and cries;

a reprise.


the splashing of soapwater on skin,

the grace of a snow falling at dusk,

what it is to know these for the first time.

And for the first time,

you hate the words for the first time.

And the Paul of your life,

he’s willing to pull

you off your sideways climb,

willing your return with the words,

Still, this is life.

And your reply,
This is still life.


Tricia Callahan



Aus: Christiane Frohmann (Hg.), Tausend Tode schreiben, Berlin: Frohmann, E-Book, 2014 bis heute
#1000tode #tod #sterben #trauer


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