Pyres
by Cody Smith
Above stick feet
I think about The Little Dipper’s
Napoleon Complex
and how I wish you
and I could live
in a rowboat
unmindful of drifting oars
or the wave-tossed stars tapping
against our hull
waking us seasick
our skin eroding
against the salted boards
but I worry how some still burn
the Dead with pyres
throwing widows
onto their empty husbands
what will befall you
during my undertaking?
an iceberg recedes into its tomb
will the sea accept my flesh
or send me back hollow?
but there’s no need
for headstone epitaphs
instead look up
you’ll see mine written
in the top-heavy night
breathing slowly