Maybe the reason I took it so well is
Because I knew death was an exit.
Like when a party is too loud, too
Crowded and exhausting,
You can finally leave.
A trapeze artist isn’t scared
Because she has a net. Yet, the
Dead looks like they’re asleep–
Or so they say.
She just looks dead to me.
Still, she’s beautiful: red lips and
Blush but her fingers felt like defrosted
Sausages. Too cold and immovable.
The funeral is over;
My hands are frostbitten.
Penny Senanarong (she/her) is a Bangkok-born poet whose work can be found in Better Than Starbucks, 50-Word Stories, and ENIGMA Journal. She is a human rights advocate with interests in queer theory, mythology, and the occult. During her free time, she likes to sing to musical show tunes.