by Nicholas YB Wong
After death, you see neither a tunnel of light
nor naked angels descending. Though you may
offer them your clothes. Generosity worth
nothing; the idea of currency only counts
in this life. You walk in darkness. Pre-paved.
Until you see a stone bridge arching
over River of Memories. You want to cross
the bank. You are stopped by a blind woman
who offers Absinthe of Forgetting and an instruction
pamphlet: Drink up and move on. Drunk.
Disoriented. Visions distorted – some dead drag
their bodies in the opposite direction
and return to us. Alcohol simmers in brains,
forming a crack. A gap, then distance.
Invisibility. Origin of ghosts. Afterlife, as many
versions as ways of dying. The period
before birth does not interest us anymore.
-refers from the word ‘babies’ in the poem Newborn by Daniel Romo.