Ben Chesser

The dead have never spoken with me.

I heard the silence, realized
it's the kind of joke that kills you, that makes you
swig salt water and wash your eyes out with soap.

Ripples carry leaves of thought up
the river to when I was last alone.

Ivy ties my ankles down–
The gift of leaving me here to wonder.

Friendships turn to nothing when left
alone long enough to see the edges.

I was boiling over with thought thought
thought about what did not matter.

Then I thought I missed my mom. I think
I saw her crossing the other side of the hill.