Ivory Sounds Erik Hallgren

Her Funeral by Sara Olmsted

When she is lying there with her hands crossed over her belly and flowers right above her knees, will they wonder who she was beneath the mental disorders, beneath the crooked glasses, beneath that strange skin? How did she feel knowing if she didn't swallow those ten pills before her day began, then she would go crazy, people would be hiding in her closets, fires would be spreading throughout her house? Maybe she is now somewhere without hallucinations, fires, robbers, mean people, and pills. Maybe she is lying down in a field of wildflowers, with nothing but goodness taking over her mind and nothing but pure beauty absorbing into her eyes.

Ivory Sounds by Erik Hallgren

The ivory keys push against the chords in the piano The ghost sound bounces, off each wall of the house Until the sound dies

In my room. Mom,Ineedhelp with number.

The dead sounds leave my room, traveling back To the piano. She leans over my desk, Lemon light illuminates her eyes, Shallow blue drops of rain hit the window of my room. She returns, to the Living Room Where she presses the keys, And the sounds are born again, Dying when they reach my room.