porcelain crucible/mo(u)rning glow
by Rachel Xu
“coroner’s office closed at 8,
you’ll have to wait ‘til morning.”
the receiver clicks shut, and
an undercurrent of unease laps against
the white-knuckled atmosphere.
in the floor above, grandma’s milky retinas
peer up at the ceiling; her bloated form
ossifying with every elapsed second.
outside,
father fingers her old Brazilian cigarillos
seething with maudlin pride at the acetic tobacco.
as evening totters by, in the drawing room
mother, brother, and I smother our conversation
in stale liquor; our thoughts draw themselves closer
to those last days of watery ambivalence:
of grandmother flitting aimlessly about
a marketplace mudlark, with an eye for chaffer
and a parching affinity for the exotic
once attic salt marinating into sickly mirth,
she wove wooden curses into kitchen countertops
throaty laughter and wrinkled touches
lingering in her wake.
when daybreak arrives,
we turn our heads to the sound of
felt-laced spatterdashes crunching against morning frost
as banyan-wrapped officers circle the matinee.
from a distance, ruddy-faced children perched
upon rotting stumps thread hushed whispers
through the listless town;
my ears, craving solace,
prompt me to follow my brother’s hunched shadow
and we step into the rays of dewy ether
to watch the rosy-fingered sun chase our moon
onto the dauby blue canvas; the sun dog
barks at Baltic dawn, and Ariadne’s thread
winds down like coiling snakeskin around fetid detritus.
together, we lounge in mournful rectitude:
father clutches the ormolu-scrolled urn in deserted rancor
mother’s cries disembogue into cyanic commiseration
the children are whimpering now; their eyes
dogging the alabaster shroud as
we watch the bier crawl into the distance, and a
weighted cross bears itself against our throats.
brother hands me our leftover drinks, and
I raise grandmother’s chipped porcelain crucible
against my chapped, sunbaked lips, downing
hard spirits under the aureate glow of tomorrow, the
last of some unsung elegy lost forevermore
on the tip of my tongue, muddy presque vu
or otherwise.
About the Author
Rachel Xu is a high school student who enjoys reading, writing, sketching, and playing badminton in her free time. She has been published in various anthologies such as Hysteria, Live Poets Society of NJ, Poetic Power, etc.