For the Former THings Have Passed Away
S.T. Eleu
IMAGE: William A. Brown
Viviane Vives is a filmmaker, actor, photographer, and writer. She is a Fulbright scholar for artistic studies at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, and her translations, poems, and short stories have been published internationally. Her work has been published in Litro Magazine, The Write Launch, and Burningword Literary Journal, among others. She was a finalist for the 2018 Philadelphia Stories’ Sandy Crimmins National Prize in Poetry and a semifinalist of the American Short(er) Fiction Contest.
– In memoriam
Julia Mae
wiped the blood of her father
from the floor tiles
from the mint green refrigerator
from the bullet hole in the paneling
from her one and only checkered button day dress
from her worn and tired and spent and frayed
rag doll
because her mother told her to
no sense
in making the police do extra work.
Jules
stared at a grizzled man’s chaw-stained cowboy boots
as old money changed older hands
$50 for a 15-year-old bride
because her family needed
one less mouth to feed
and society in perpetuity
and women
and such.
Judy
dodged fists, psychological warfare, machine-gunned
words
words of one who thought himself King
words of a King of Kings
words of The King
return to sender, address unknown
no such person, no such zone.
Ma
rocked in her chair
crocheting and frogging
crocheting and frogging
crocheting and smoking and frogging
crocheting and smoking and drinking and frogging
crocheting and smoking and drinking and tripping and frogging
and when the demons left
gathered her children and taught them
how to read and write
how to pray and plead
how to wield a Bible
how to curse
the law
the sun
her.
Lia
dragged herself across state lines one
winter’s noon
and divorced the desert
and its fool’s gold
and its scorpions and vultures
and its stans and ralphs and kens
exorcism
in absentia.
Julia
emerged from exile
secondhand store polished
hand in hand with a new old man
on his own path of redemption and healing
a family forged
on equal terms.
Mom
hugged a prodigal child
with the force of a thousand mama bears
no cancer could diminish
when
after decades of absence
the door opened
and out flew all former things
for it was the age of healing...
