be mine, be mine, be mine

[Benjamen]

I shine only with the light you give me

My funeral was beautiful.

That I remember.

I was buried beneath not dirt, not ash—but flowers.

The whole kingdom came.

Befitting for a prince.

“He was a good boy.”
A flower dropped.

“A parent should never outlive a child.”
A flower dropped.

“Little James, it isn’t right.”
A flower dropped.

“I cannot imagine.”
A flower dropped.

And then silence—that was my mother.
A flower dropped—save for a single petal—that she pressed to her lips and buried inside her hair.

My great-great grandmother drowned when the valley was flooded. (Two by water, one by ice, or does that make it three by water?) My mother says they hear music when they drown. My dad says they see the night sky lit with every shed-star that has ever lived. But they do not know.

I do.

But I’m not telling.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

You gotta catch me first!

Like his mother before him, James moves across the land like a flame, following the river. (“Burn bright, James, like your grandpa. You look like him, you know?”) He is young, so young. Not an orphan if only because his parents are not dead. But they don’t know he’s alive. He knows, and he remembers. Remembers it all. Thrashing limbs, limp muscles, being lift from the water far too late, far too late, warm lips against cold cheeks, tears, pleading.

He knows and he remembers the before too, before the water. The laughter, the chase, the flowers, the snuggles, the stories. The before was where he wants to be, what he wants to hold onto. It feels a little less like two halves, and a little more like Peter Pan and his shadow. Befitting, for the little boy who hasn’t grown up. If only because he never had the chance too, searching for Neverland beneath an ocean’s wave. Inhaling water instead of pixie dust. There were still happy thoughts though, at the end of it all.

His mother.
His dad.
His sister.
His godfather.
His friends.

And there are happy thoughts now—a cousin he has never met before, standing right before him. “Wings of the falcon you watched fly as you stood proud beside your father. “Excuse me,” those big blue eyes stare up at the golden stallion. “Are you Nashua?”



Benjamen; my feet knew the path, we walked in the dark, in the dark
never gave a single thought to where it might lead

image by Gary Bendig
@[Nashua]