By Emily Bludworth de Barrios
My phone will die soon
We will die soon
It’s possible that our electronic voice will palaver endlessly into the void
Will any creatures decipher our fluctuations?
Like knots tied deliberately in a certain place in a cord, a phalange of knotted ropes……
They will surely hopefully at least see our curved written symbols or our senselessly endlessly patterned 1s and 0s and deduce that something was meant…..
A wonderful thing about language is to rest your fevered forehead against its cool marble face and know that something was meant…….
Out of the phalanx of deeds
Among the smattering of water, soil, roots, rooms
Among a phalanx of people
Such as your family, twisted up among the deeds and words
Stories were told (innumerable stories, fluttering, dappled, hurled, pink-colored, sweet-colored, mouldering, blasted, lashed, left back there and lost among innumerable years or days now covered with mulch and oil and paper stacks and flakes of old paint)
As your hours do, and dry
(So Robert Herrick wrote)
We die, as your hours do, and dry away
Emily Bludworth de Barrios is the author of Splendor, a book of poems. She's also published two chapbooks: Women, Money, Children, Ghosts, from Sixth Finch, and Extraordinary Power, from Factory Hollow Press. Her poems have appeared in publications such as jubilat, New Delta Review, Sixth Finch, and Tender. Emily was born in Houston and raised in Egypt, the United States, and Venezuela; she currently lives in Houston.