I Speak Because I am Shattered

poppies and poems and last lines and abortions and stillbirths and goodbyes

On Twitter (ugh), poets and poetry-loving mutuals of mine are always asking questions like “What’s a poem that perfectly captures the month of August” or “What’s a poem about death that you return to again and again?” They’re always, always asking so that they can tell you about a poem that moves them. They’re always going, “I’ll start:” and posting said poem below their question, an offering. I love this format for many reasons—not least of which that it always brings new poetry and poets into my life—but recently there was an all-time great of the genre.

Aria Aber, whose work I love and whose Twitter account is private (so I won’t post a screenshot of her tweet here, asked for last lines—of poems or short stories. Last lines that stick the landing. Last lines that leave you stunned. Last lines that stay with you in the silence and the blank space after. Last lines that knock you out, revive you, kiss you, kill you, bring you back to life.

The End, 2011, by Luke Butler