last words: four myths
by Melissa Allen
Contrary to rumor, there are many boxes that I haven’t opened. It’s no harder for me to resist temptation than for anyone else. And honestly, I’m still not sure I’m sorry.
leaf skeleton key to an unlocked door
I never expected to look back until I did. My fingers fumbled on the strings; I was suddenly afraid that she had fumbled too. Those last few sour notes still ring in my ears.
long winter evening a song in every shattering
Yesterday we flew pretty close to the sun, but today we’ll fly even closer. The wax is hardening in the molds. We pace restlessly, raising and lowering our arms like fledglings who know they have wings for a reason.
in a sky full of clouds only one cloud white enough
He measures out six seeds for me, six small poison pills, six ways to forget my life, six small deaths for me to die.
…and the last hum of the cicada the same as the first