Still By Nicole Q. Nguyen

The Rising Phoenix Review

Dec 2

Still

Like a stone born from my body,
you came into this world cold and still.
The sky drained of color as they took you away
my body was an exit wound, I sunk
into the mattress
a foreigner to myself. Your eyes never did open.

Cardboard epitaphs, folded napkin eulogies—
we buried you in the backyard
because there was nowhere else to go.
You were cradled in that black mud,
the earthworms watched over you as
the dry grass whispered its lullabies.

I laid in the bathtub, my skin flayed back like a peeled peach.
The ceiling tiles dripped condensation
and whispered your name, which I never said aloud.
That house held me like a child
and rocked me to sleep.

Slowly, we must learn to live
with hands
that cannot heal the ones we love.

By Nicole Q. Nguyen

Biography:

Nicole Q. Nguyen is a Philadelphia native writer and academic. Her work attempts to reconcile the deeply confessional nature of poetry with her own unwavering love for the art of storytelling. Many of her works explore the intersection where the foreign and the familiar meet. Nicole is proud to hail from a long, unbroken line of avid lovers of literature. Find her on Instagram @NicoleQNguyen