Skip to main content.

An aside to the dead by Carlos Martinez
published in Volume 4, Issue 3 on December 31st, 1997

Now that I've been married all of these years,
and have, therefore, given up sex,
most nights I sit on the couch in the living room
and stare; or I stand by the sink drying dishes;
or, on the cold nights when the wind isn't there,
and ice cracks loudly along the walls, I turn off
the outside lights and go out to wait
for the rising of the moon, look up
at Orion's belt or the clouds that obscure
those things I may never see again, and I listen to
the barking chatter of the raccoons
hiding in the long, long grass and try
to remember how all of them once were, the dead
I once knew
and wonder why they do not now look
like I remember them, at all,
how their voices felt
in the thickness of 
the atmosphere of all that is past
we once inhaled together,
the softness of their hands, 
how delicately their women's lips pursed and kissed,
the touch and scent of breasts
that some nights lay against my chest,
their sweat and how
they smelled and felt
and how now when
the moon rises up cold against
the somber shadows cast by stunted trees,
alone at night I sometimes
kneel or bend in dark remembrance
before I go back in again.

go to this issue