No Life to Breathe

By Christina Linsin

Photo Credit: Alexis Antonio

for the students gone

The silence of the field

at midnight, painted

gold from wide

swaths of moon, is in no way

similar

to the silence of the grave,

but they meet me there

anyway, thinking

it forges enough connection,

drinking

the liquor of lost causes

and mumbling prayers

Saint Jude never hears,

(the mountains cutting off

some sounds and carrying

others clearly)

the wind fighting

my candle seems portentous.

I wanted to tell them  

something       all of them

they’re not broken,

they’ve never been

lost, but they know that

now.

Instead, they tell me gossip

from their many, many graves,

things they need no life

to breathe,

and I tell them I will

keep an eye on            everyone,

a promise I know

I can’t keep.

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Christina Linsin is a poet and teacher in Virginia. Her work examines connections with nature, complexities of mental illness, and difficulties creating meaningful connections with others amid life’s obstacles. She currently serves as the Western Region Vice President of the Poetry Society of Virginia, and her poems have been published in Still: The Journal, Stone Circle Review, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Whale Road Review, The Mid-Atlantic Review, and others.

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