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Goodbye, Love: 8 songs about Grief
October 9, 2018
October 11, 2018




Who would want to understand

if they looked into a busy city

while standing naked in the woods

where the leaves would breathe

to provoke rapid serenity?

Birds call to their friends and rivals;

a consequence, for they do not know,

but why would knowing stop them?


Setting forth on a Sunday afternoon

from the grey to green

we understand.

Even so, we go

just a visit, two hours

then two days

two years eventually disappear

you have no watch or calendar.

Why would knowing stop you?





Chance scatters colors as a pool

of heterogeneous paint.

Speckles form, don’t mix

and sorry hands try to find

a masterpiece whispered to them

before their colors spilled

into the pool


What solace does a canvas waiting

offer when the shimmer teases

with flashes of wasted potential

to tired, inoperable hands


They are cursed to watch the well dry up





Breath is like

a watermelon crumbling

in my gnarled grip,

grains between my fingers

curl my spine around

the finger of discomfort,

imprints of black seeds

sliding in slime as I clench

even harder to what I feel

slipping, wasting, and falling.

The faucet is the one thing

I can’t ever learn to operate

and as seeds sink into my skin

vines extrude from my pores

leaves unfurl, red with my life

I learn how to carry watermelons

until they’re fully grown



When it Doesn’t Leap


Sense darts around eyes,

heads that have tongues adhered

to the skull, these frogs

starve for lack of motion


Old sense sits

at the bottoms of their guts

collecting and digesting, growing

mold in the still periods

before aggravation of seeing

fresh rose hips across the pond

River Fujimoto has lived in Alaska all of her life, but she doesn’t like to let that be the focus of her writing.