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the iris song
grandfather, i’m trapped again on this endless grassy blanket
it’s dotted with murmuring violet hues
its petals rustle in a soft hymn
and the flowers are singing their feathery song
(but why is it different from when you came here with me? its eerie susurrus before the crimson storm…as the petals begin to fall in the waltzing wind...)
grandfather, there’s a hollow mist that floats about-
the velvet echo in this meadow of a haunting melody
the glistening crescendo as trees surrender their emerald treasures
for scarlet rubies and ambers and rogue garnets
grandfather, the birds’ bellies now are mostly
staccato, speckled ones, showered in ash;
and the domed sky today is a serenade of a
soft, yet brilliant blue
(but why is it suffocating? why does it trap me here? I can feel their eyes on me, i can feel their hushed intentions...i can’t inhale, now i have to exhale… i do as you always say… count backwards from ten and breathe…10..9...8...)
grandfather, they stand in huddles around you
like vultures around a fresh kill
that woman in the fur coat keeps asking
for me- for Will
grandfather, why are they different?
from them i can hear nothing
but an empty silence
all music trickles to a stop with a creeping ritardando
(why does this haunting emptiness hug me so tight with its poisonous caresses, and its kisses steal my breath away…crawling up my throat...i’m drowning… i can’t brea...7..6..5…)
grandfather, remember when you cried then
with rivers of teardrops flowing through the mountainous crevices of your face
i can see their eyes with tears falling too
drip...drop...drip- at an ever steady pace
grandfather, but they are not crying
it seems even their tears can lie in a luring siren song
But now the music is returning with an all too silky sweetness
like the rich cerulean of a riptide
and i can hear the woman in the fur coat’s whistling black rhapsody
(what is this inching throb? It lays heavily on my breast as the cold and blue tipped fingers clamp around my bleeding heart- lusting for my shallow breaths...red-hot sparks in this blueish bruising ache...4...3...2...)
grandfather, the blanket’s murmuring chorus now whispers so quietly
goodnight grandfather, did they tuck you in tight?
they’re singing their goodbyes, in a saccharine lullaby;
a soothing azure, but i can still hear the dark harmony that lingers
grandfather? grandfather!
grandfather?
Grandfather…
I can’t hear it anymore
Grandfather. You lied to me. You lied to me when you said it would be ok. You lied to me. You lied to me when you said you would stay. You lied to me. You lied to me when you said to count backwards. You lied to me. You lied to me when you said to breathe. You lied to me in your familiar violet hues. Liar...
You lied to me, and now I realize how this aching blue and sparking red make your purple.
He said
as the darkened iris song shed its petals
and echoed violetly through his boyish heart in its final
chord.
(...1…)
Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

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"the iris song" is about a young boy with synesthesia (a condition where a person's five senses are involuntarily linked together) who has lost his grandfather and struggles to cope with both his overwhelming sense of grief and disbelief.