By A. D. Warrick
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Mentions of (imagined) death, references to unaccepting families
Sometimes I think about
what I would do if you died.
How your parents would
put on your grave
the name of a stranger.
How I would drive
to their family cemetery
by moonlight
Plant catnip where it would
cover the headstone.
Go to your funeral in my best suit.
Drape your coffin in blue and white and pink
and tell them about
the way you whispered
your real name to me
the first time,
almost asleep
dark curls wild, ear pressed to chest
listening to my fast-pumping heartbeat.
A. D. Warrick (They/Them), or just Annika to their friends, is current graduate student teaching assistant and MFA candidate at the University of Central Arkansas. They are currently poetry editing for Arkana, and occasionally freelance for the Arkansas Times. When not writing, they generally like to spend their time obsessing over Magic the Gathering, pondering Mary Oliver while wandering the many state parks Arkansas offers, or singing karaoke badly at the local punk watering hole. If you would like to know more about them, or their writing you can follow them on instagram at @adwarrick, or present them with a pretty rock, for which they will offer in trade their undying love.
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