Jessie Janeshek
I Can’t Really Say I Feel Guilt, But How Did Life Get So Short?

On one hand I’m angry
on the other it’s ok to pace
sit outside the vet’s in a blue tie-dyed tank top
waiting for little deaths
or standing outside the cage
to watch the one-winged raven.

One small death can mean anything
and it’s been months since I lit the multicolored lights.
I’m nostalgic for the warmth
that was early in this sickness.
I guess there was this time
I gave up on your approval
we were all of the same mind
thinking of crows.

I yearned to wear yellow
look like happy lemons
I guess there was that time
I took a boat into the blue grotto
and there was garbage everywhere
and I became possessive.

Riddle me this     my guilt’s going to get me
18 days early    and I still don’t know the meaning
of one-key play
blood in the trash compactor
or cold in the elevator shaft

and your grandfather was probably a nice man
but we called him a wacko    accused him of everything

and the tree frogs sound like humidity
and I’m past the age of experimentation
but I’ll walk back-and-forth all night
across this tragic story.