summer, 2008. skateboarding in a park,

camera in hands, shaking, filming brendan as he tries to ollie. you, in the infancy of your

hopes and dreams when the world was still a path open limits unknowable.

tomorrow, maybe you would film gabe jumping in the pool from the roof,

or…

It is 3:35 a.m.

The kitten does not want to stop partying. The night is a party.

So many toes to pounce on, so many mason jars full of water to knock down on the sleeping heads of the humans.

There is no logical reason for the kitten to stop…

Josh

A memory; Feb. 2008.

Five young pallbearers, red-eyed and sniffling, trying to stifle tears, shoulder to shoulder, crammed in a limo following behind the hearse.

The interstate leading over the river, gently dusted with mid morning snow; the crawling motorcade buffered by cops with three flashing blue lights.

Looking…

Part 1: A Riptide

A memory; Feb. 2008.

Five young pallbearers, red-eyed and sniffling, trying to stifle tears, shoulder to shoulder, crammed in a limo following behind the hearse.

The interstate leading over the river, gently dusted with mid morning snow; the crawling motorcade buffered by cops with three flashing blue lights.

Looking out…

At any given point in our lives, we all experience crisis. It’s the absolute worst case scenario, rock bottom, our worst day.

What comes to mind? Maybe a car accident, a heart attack, a horrible diagnosis, or a major loss. It’s easy to rationalize a physical, tangible illness or a visible, gaping injury.

But what about when the enemy comes from inside the house?

Someone who’s in a car accident needs immediate…

My name is Lazarus of Bethany.

I spent my death peering through the cracks in a tomb.

I liked the sleep. I liked the dark dust

No, I did not ask to be raised

from the peace of death.

Jesus wept, Martha wept

as she removed my damp wrappings

of…

Will I last November?

I don’t think

it shameful, losing out to a month.

This cold month,

teetering on the edge of the winter,

always has a victory.

November knows

the first snow, and toys with the first kiss of white;

Says,

my change will lead us somewhere,

and you will know when

we’ve arrived,

the dark and the cold,

the forever white.



Will I last the conversation?

We are both dusted with pain,

Hunched over at the kitchen table,

Coffee steam rising up from the cup,

fading out fast.

It’s not shameful to

Lose a conversation.

Playing equally, half logic, half some sad

diplomacy, reasoning;

but

everyone has to lose eventually,

and

It’s not like the words stick.

Right after you speak them,

they float away like steam.

With a hard truth,

November guides the conversation.

November says,

“It’s only going to get worse.”

I’ve been sleeping most the year.

Came to in a Subway line. I don’t know if it was the smell of the baking bread, or the cleaning chemicals, or a nauseous combination of both that hit my brain like a smelling salt, jolting me awake.

What was I doing? Everything…

I should start taking score. I should keep a catalog of everyone I know who has died. Everyone I’ve written a post-mortem poem about. Everyone I’ve drowned in a cold glass or stumbled home weeping about.

I can laminate the pages, stick them in a big black binder, color code…

Jonny Bolduc

Journalist and occasional essayist. Fumbling, bumbling, stumbling along.

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