 Catherine Weiss is a poet and artist from Maine. Their poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Tinderbox, Up the Staircase, Fugue, Okay Donkey, Birdcoat, Bodega, petrichor, Counterclock, and elsewhere. Their debut full-length collection Snarl of Wildflower (Game Over Books, 2021) will be published later this year. More at catherineweiss.com. Afterlife
Tonight I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. I hid in the dining room from a movie I knew would stress me out. I am not writing a song. I am not stitching an embroidery. In general, I like to lie face down on the sofa. I like to eat snow. I like when people remember I exist. I clip my nails. I wear a ring. Sometimes I even like the sound of my own singing voice, sweet and uncertain. My desk faces a window. The reflection: my round face. A downturned mouth. Glasses. I wish I believed in life after death. I could try to brute force my way into faith. It occurs to me I maybe heard somewhere scientific that there is no free will because all events have already happened and time is an illusion. I extrapolate: I will always be me. I extrapolate further: perhaps I will be reincarnated into June of 1986, the same. I like this. I have a nice existence. Sure, I have spent too many nights drunk and calling my mother. And more texting friends who don’t care to hear from me past 8. I can’t stand myself alone. But I would like to keep on going. What about the babies who died babies. They remain in very small loops. The unjustness of the theology I have made up for my private comfort is disturbing. But since when does anything have to be fair to be true. Or believed. If I am its author, I must write it beautiful and also good. I will try again.
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