“celestials: or what we give the dead” by Ashley Howell Bunn

my friend said she bought me a kaleidoscope

the week you woke me in a dream, to show me the fullness

of

the moon

 framed                       in my window

startled me out of  night, like the sun

disappearing the stars with its life,

obsidian, the sky, i imagine,

before i woke,

which is supposed

to keep                                                        excited souls from waking

the still  living             on a sunday                                                        before sunrise

so I place it next to your altar

the man who does magic with the 

mesa told us to say goodnight

to our dead before we rest or fuck

or drink ourselves retching cover 

with cloth close a door tuck them

in so they don’t watch the depth of 

living are you still dying or are you 

done now father       

collect objects 

to make you comfortable: 

magnolia pod,

 beachwood,

carolina pine, 

an image of your young body, 

 your silver hair, 

 your burnt bones, 

i do not place the shot of vodka

i was going to drink in your honor

i pour it to the earth

give you my sobriety.

About Ashley Howell Bunn
She/Her/Hers

Ashley Howell Bunn is pursuing her MFA in poetry through Regis University where she is also a graduate writing consultant. She is on the editorial staff for the literary journal, Inverted Syntax. Her work has previously appeared in The Colorado Sun, South Broadway Ghost Society, Global Poemic, the series Head Room Sessions, and is forthcoming in patchwork lit mag. When she isn’t writing, she guides and practices yoga and runs a small personal business centered around healing. She lives in Denver, CO with her partner and child. You can follow her on Instagram @howellandheal