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"A Song for George" by Andrea Taylor

You reminded me

death is a part of life

itself even as we live.

Winter has always been my

favorite, February feels free

somehow, full of ancients’

magic for its calm, its stunned


even in death. I keep hearing you

knock, knock, knocking on my dreams,

death opening the door toward

life, it’s all too much.

Talk less, listen to the breath

shifting snowdrifts

silencing, the way snow will,

anger with nowhere to go.

Echoes bounce off ice like

laser beams, lives lived, lives

fragmenting life. You said

yourself all things must


like you, an emptiness,

loss of light, another shifting

phase of the new

blue moon hovering,

haunting, but true.

You pass on your traits,

memories and mercy to a

fistful of your own blood

we all wish we carried

for another chance,

the do-overs.

For you, out of you,

tired of you, deep go the


They come again and again,

no time or space, but a long,

long, long way to go. I’m

surprised by how much

I need you, not knowing, but

knowing you. A dream

scene knocks again,

one I’ve had before or I

think I have. I want

to tell you about the

impact, blue waves

sliding up the shore.

But you reminded me with a

word, a glance, a blunt

warning to handle

with care, the love so

sad for this song, this

tongue of the gods, a charged

mystical one, not a dirty

word, even when many were said.

Duality splits in


again, and I’m not

alone anymore. The fears

death bring remind us

of all those years

ago when your tears

met your mouth.

When I was younger,

I used to want

everything and fast. Slow

down to imagine what

is life when we finally

see the answer’s at

the end, the art

of dying, having


and knowing both

feels right, no longer

rattled, afraid. If not for

you, I may not

remember the way. Even

patient, it’s taken me

longer to find the inner

light than the

darkness, but to my

surprise, it’s been here

all along, as you knew.

I am shoveling

snow into my grief-filled

heart to share a bit more of

you since I can only

run so far for so long,

blanketing all that anger with

February-fabricated calm,

beauty, something close to


So I can try, I can

imagine heading for the

light, and I want to

thank you for the reminder.

Andrea Taylor is a Columbus, Ohio-based writer whose work is forthcoming or published in Rejection Letters, Roi Faineant Press, Allegory Ridge, and others; she can be found on the web and Twitter @minadre


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