Caretaker By M. Wright


She told my grandmom the following:

When your mind stops,
your fingers become false
and family members will
consider foreclosing.

And when your heart stops,
your foreign fingers will
cross over your heart as
second-year med students
dehumanize your tattoo of
the pillsbury boy,
forcing away theoreticals
of your childhood memories–
with her mother I’m sure.
And your adulthood crises,
maybe she mistook god for god.

Your cremated mind will
be filled with sand
(like sleeping limbs)
and you’ll feel the atoms
of you separate.

Your ashen heart will seek
out a place to wait for
your lover’s star stuff
and the remaining atoms
will coalesce into fake
fish-tank seaweed for
some four year old’s
goldfish to enjoy.


By M. Wright


M. Wright has recently been published in The Rising Phoenix Review, Maudlin House, Barely South Review, and (forthcoming in) Temenos Journal. He is the winner of Weisman Art Museum’s Poetry ArtWords and was awarded second place in the Into the Void Poetry Competition. In 2017 M. will be one of the 24 featured poets in the Saint Paul Almanac’s Impressions series. More:

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