No Life to Breathe
- 5 days ago
- 1 min read
Updated: 13 hours ago
By Christina Linsin
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.
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.
