indelible promises.
the dent in your palm.
the memory of what-could-have-been.
confusion, misgivings, sin.
the crack left in your side.
bruised knuckles.

you claw your way to an opening;
lose a little time trying to gain a little speed.

what does grief feel like today?
are its fingers pushing against your spine?
can you breathe past it?
or is it crushing the innocence
trapped in your windpipe?

regardless of how big the wound is,
the world says you shouldn’t fuss over it;
the wound says you shouldn’t make a future out of it.
when grief is synonymous to existence,
the world is sharper.
but, see,
no one ever taught me how to grieve.
they say: it’s just a matter of learning backwards.

glory be to the topsoil.
to the worms, to the wounds.
glory be to the intricate congregation of mycelium.
what makes for a better angel of death than
the quaint prompt of decomposition?
a thankless, endless task.
return to the earth:
precipice and prayer.

silence and sunrise.
silhouettes on the garage door.
the checkbook of mortality.
the blue chemical of the morning.
the waking burn in your stomach.
the taunting endures; single-toned litany.
your eyes adjust to the darkness; the heart never.

Gervaise Alexis Savvias (they/he) is a Zambian-Cypriot writer, artist and researcher currently based in Nicosia, Cyprus. Their practice is predicated on an entanglement of parapoetics, radical archival methodologies, and lounging in the sun. Their work stretches across installation, poetry, collective utterance, and sound; observing language through its manifold forms and recognizing its ability for collective communing and vulnerability.