Neonlumberjack by Ners Neonlumberjack

The Initial Shock

by Katelyn Rusk

April 6, 2022: THE INITIAL SHOCK From the moment that I learned that you were sick, I wished for the days to last longer, so I had more time with you After you passed it seemed as if the days are too long now Ironic, isn’t it? How fast you can change your mind, I wish for the days to go quicker I wish that there was a way you could still be here Whether that is through heavens mythical visiting hours Or just a different dimension where I would never have to live without you On every dimension, every galaxy I would wish for you to be my grandma Being your granddaughter was and still is the best thing that could have ever happened Feels like an eternity since I last saw you, last spoke to you I wish I could have done something to help But I couldn’t Now you live on in the better parts of me Ambassador, Vice President, those are the better parts of me Not the parts of me that gets quiet and too involved with her thought I strive to make you proud, though it never seems as if it is truly enough Guide me, help me in this journey through life You taught me many things in the short 18 years, that we were both on this planet You neglected to teach me one particular thing How to live without you Some days I still wonder if I am doing it right Even though it has been almost 6 months since my world went cold I still have doubts I don’t know if I am making you proud Outside sources tell me that I do and that I should believe that You may be gone but you will definitely never be forgotten

Aunt Kathy’s Sweater

Yesterday, I wore your sweater that I’ve kept in my closet for so many years, so many moves to so many cities.

It used to make my closet smell like your home, and the smell opened doors to memories of piano lessons and sneaking a sip of a rum-and-coke and embroidering by candlelight and gossipping about family secrets.

But after so many years, and so many moves to so many cities, the sweater no longer smells like your home.

I was afraid to wear the sweater, and break the sacred bond it might have had with you, but now that it smells like my home

and reminds me of the feeling of being fully unpacked, and looking for presents too-well-hidden, and hand-stitching a bed for the rescue dog,

I wore it because I was cold.

The bottom zipper was broken, just as it had been when you got it, and as I whispered fuck this stupid thing while wrestling the sweater closed, I thought of you doing the same, all those many years ago.

by Kathryn Engelmann