Deathiversaries by Jason Fisk

When they visit

I force them to flutter

through my waking hours

like kaleidoscope butterflies

and their delicate wing flaps

cool my mind  

I prod them to strut

through my memories

like gorgeous peacocks

fanned out on full display

catching the sun’s radiations

its iridescent blues and greens

I need to think of these deaths

as gorgeous butterflies

and precious peacocks

so I don’t trip over

the awkward calendar days

Like Langston’s note

I don’t want to kiss

the cool face

of the calling river

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Jason Fisk lives and writes in the suburbs of Chicago. He has worked in a psychiatric unit, labored in a cabinet factory, and mixed cement for a bricklayer. He was born in Ohio, raised in Minnesota, and has spent the last 25 years in the Chicago area.