cat's cradle by Valerye Hidalgo Garcia (18, New York)*

[Content warning: mentions of grief, mentions of death]

I. 
I thought my life had ended in the same breath as
​yours, pulling my words like milk teeth; 
A plier yesterday, bare hands today. 

​I recycle my spit, 
preach to unholy, unknown gods 
and sink into a seedy cavity in prayer. 

---

There is no definite distinction between where I begin
and you end. This is that oddly you-shaped space,
​where we become onto one another and 

​Our tongues swell with light, pulp turning 
into new flesh. 


​
II. 
You invite me into the sunken bowels of the earth “Let's play cat's cradle” 
The way you breathe those word

The way you breathe those words into the crook of my neck,
sticky like the August heat 
that stands stagnant between your body and mine. 
​
We sit knee to knee, and my god 
I have hands. 

Hydrogen sulfide, carbon dioxide, methane. 
The heat and the swell, 
love and consumption are synonymous. 

When the liquefaction begins, and the ground consumes you
I hope you fill the veins of the dandelion, 
I hope it reaches the golden head. 
A metamorphosis of blood, flesh, rust. 

Heat accelerates decomposition, 
the distance between my body and yours. 
But it ensures the closeness of you 
and livor mortis, rigor mortis, algor mortis.
Nitrogen, phosphorus, and magnesium. 
The bloat of summer and decay of winter. 
Split the atoms again, you know this ritual all too well.
Start the oration, let the throat swallow your mother tongue.
Bury the white cross and consider this madness.



III.
I’M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS YOU WERE JUST A
KID, IS THAT LOVE? IS IT REALLY LOVE 
IF IT CHEWS TO THE BONE 
AND CONSUMES THE MARROW? 

I’M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS BUT YOU SPEAK OF GRIEF
LIKE IT'S THE ONLY REAL THING THAT HAS EVER TOUCHED YOUR LIPS, 
LIKE YOU’RE A PROPHET. 
​
I’M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS 
SHE’S IN A BETTER PLACE 
SHE LOVES YOU MORE THAN YOU
KNOW, CAN YOU SEE THE SUN LIKE HER
SMILE?

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