Lily Anna Erb
Here, lilies grow above my head. I see
only frail stick-roots, the petals not strong
enough to reach down. Here, music isn’t free—
I sift through remembrance to hear your song.
They deal amnesia in doses and say
it hurts less. (They lie.) There is no relief
from memory. Like stains, they wash away
mourning, and too soon, I forget my grief.
The mind turns back- I know your voice. You speak
song. I hear you now, cave-halls echoing.
Your refrain weeps. (Nothing hurts less.) I’m weak
when you find me, hold me, say “we’re going”
and we creep-escape, silent as cavemice,
until you look back once and kill me twice.
Plaster Body at Pompeii
When I crawl into my unmade bed,
I fit into your space, the gap
in the ash, as if I can become
the memory, the calcified mirage
that is the vague shape of you.
We are all placeholders, and I know
remembrance is not all clay, untouchable
bones somewhere inside. In the pillowcase,
in the plaster, the decades crumble,
your smell fades. I think
I would like to sleep
Lily Anna Erb is a junior studying creative writing at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida. She grew up in New York, but decided to migrate south for higher education in order to escape the cold. She was awarded the Michener Scholarship for creative writing in 2019, and has since been published in multiple online journals.