Birthday Without Candle
You dissolved into the needle’s mouth,
a silence that swallowed your name.
Yet when I walk among the animals,
I hear you—
in the scrape of hoof against stone,
in the restless wings of a crow
circling a field that does not forget.
The marrow inside me
is a record of your ruin,
and of your strength.
I know you in the grit
that refuses to leave my bones,
in the stubborn fire
that will not die though you did.
No cake, no song.
Only the whisper of soil shifting,
the breath of beasts in the dark,
and my voice saying—
happy birthday—
to the ghost I carry
like a second skeleton within my own.
About the Creator
Taylor Ward
From a small town, I find joy and grace in my trauma and difficulties. My life, shaped by loss and adversity, fuels my creativity. Each piece written over period in my life, one unlike the last. These words sometimes my only emotion.
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More stories from Taylor Ward and writers in Poets and other communities.
Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Oh that was interesting. I really like the ending and the idea of carrying the ghost.