'on dealing with grief' and 'notes from the underworld', by a.d.
on dealing with grief
gather everything sharp-edged & stuff it in a box // your father doesn’t need any more hair
clippings & either way, the wind will take them // when your mother offers you help, don’t
rebuke her // concede that she is trying // understand that you & your father are not one being //
& that her disdain for him does not extend towards you // quit checking the driveway every 5
minutes for presages of your brother’s arrival // no presence, however desired, can fill the chasm
your father has left behind // stop wasting wine on the stone; give life a chance to sprout anew //
abandon your habit of idling in front of the tv hoping to catch the same half-second glimpse of
his face on the news // keep your eyes dry for long enough to look around you, to look inside you
// tear the veil & step in front of the mirror; // tilt your chin up & sideways // notice the imperious
line of the brows, the aquiline curve of the nose, the identical mouth // listen to the turtledove’s
song outside your window; // how tempting to trade places with her, to devote your life entirely
to grieving // mourning so becomes you // but look, isn’t that the same sun that falls now, that
has beheld him all his life, that has followed his conquests? // isn’t that the same red path he’d
tread on to gather you in his arms? // & oh, isn’t it all so damned beautiful? // see, your dead are
only gone if you drown your spirit in mourning, // if you consign them mercilessly to the grave //
otherwise, they shine on
notes from the underworld
SETTING: The Underworld, some years after the murder of CLYTEMNESTRA. She has since
been reunited with her ex-husband, AGAMEMNON. Despite the animosity between them, they
always seem to find themselves gravitating towards one another, as if their spilled blood binds
them together. It is finally time for their daughter, ELECTRA, to join them.
[Enter ELECTRA, wild, disoriented, dead. She is desperately searching for a familiar face when she spots her father.]
ELECTRA: Father!
AGAMEMNON: My girl. [He smiles at her— the stupid, incongruous smile of a pitbull.]
[She runs to her father. She tries to embrace him, but her body breaches as if she’s entered a body of water. She is once again overcome by grief— for having reached her father at last yet still being unable to hold him, to be held by him.]
ELECTRA: Why can’t I hug you?
AGAMEMNON: Haven’t you noticed? We are dead.
[She mitigates their lack of corpulence by hovering close to him, into him, so that their bodies intersect, her hand in his body.]
ELECTRA: Father, I’ve missed you so much.
AGAMEMNON: But my dear girl, how come you’re here? What tragedy befell you?
ELECTRA: No tragedy but your loss. I got tired of missing you.
[AGAMEMNON raises his hand, lets it hover over her head, a pitiable attempt at a caress. His hand is mangled, the thumb missing. This draws the attention of CLYTEMNESTRA.]
CLYTEMNESTRA: Why don’t you tell him what you did?
[ELECTRA draws back as if scalded. She glares at her mother, whose presence is spoiling the reunion. Suddenly she remembers her first years of grief, when she was out of her mind.]
ELECTRA: [trembling] I did a terrible thing. I didn’t mean to do it. It just—it was stronger than me.
AGAMEMNON: What have you done?
ELECTRA: [incoherent crying and raving]
AGAMEMNON: What have you done?
CLYTEMNESTRA: She ate of your remains.
ELECTRA: OIMOI.
[He remains silent for a while, pondering as ELECTRA wails inconsolably. He contemplates his maimed hand.]
AGAMEMNON: Well. Better you than the dogs.
a.d. is drawn to the sacred, the profane, the mysterious and the mythological, which provides inspiration for her work. She is an award-nominated bisexual poet, writer, and visual artist, with work published in HAD, Aôthen, electric pink, ANTAE, Eulogy Press, Bleating Thing, and elsewhere. Tumblr & Twitter: @godstained
“lament” by a.d.