top of page

If we had to rewrite the story, then let’s start from collapse. Either we breach our bedrock, or dissolve the household By Jonathan Bessette



For better or worse dipped in depression

sautéed with dissatisfaction served crying à la carte


between the crags of winter bordering a Fascist state

we huddled around pale fire next to psychopaths of the night


You, asked me to tell a story


Once upon a time I was a hair

width from existence, whether

by abortion or their fleeing abusers


Croatian grandmother, Métis grandmother, might

have seen me waving on this future hilltop. How

can I thank them for enduring so much violence?


You vacuumed snot from my ego

saying, they did it to survive


Sighing, you lifted my body, weight of systemic

shackle. I cut off pieces of my flesh, tossed away

to lighten, as we trudged into the shrouded valley


We crossed the Fraser River, toward post-

apocalyptic shantytown. Made home

from a hollowed-out railroad boxcar.


We spent PTSD on each other, worried

we weren’t making enough. So, I collected

the stars, put them in an old coffee tin, where

every year on the date of our first kiss, we

found our wounds with blame. I tried to hold

what we were, in a long, linear, line, of repetition

that needed to be shred and scattered in a breeze


After we died, you swam along shores

of heaven, just out of reach, my

hand could feel threads of frayed net


I tied them together, like the feathers

of an eagle. Maybe, I could fly to meet

you near the sun, where we both would

melt, drizzling wings searching for new

hands to shape us. Not into scented

candles sputtering away. But into

the eyes, of an ever-beating voice,

glancing,

the fulcrum,

of infinity.


ABOUT:

Jonathan Bessette has many hobbies which inform his writing, including astrology, gaming, gardening, and anarchism and he lives in the unceded and traditional territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), səl̓ilwətaɁɬ (Tsleil-Waututh), and Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish) Nations, so-called Vancouver. He’s a founding member of Held Magazine and has published poetry in The Capilano Review and CV2, nonfiction in Adbusters and Quill and Quire, and fiction in The Antigonish Review and Carte Blanche. Follow @jonathan.m.bessette on Instagram or Bluesky: jonathanbessette.bsky.social.


EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: HYLLS — Feathers






0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page