Burdens of Mortality

            —Lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia (Aeneid)

Down the gray channel of highway, flecked by endless white
dashes, above me drowned in daylight may be stars. I’ve
been crying for no reason again, not even for the diminution
of our fragile planet. Call it a blood-letting of translucent
clarity. I will not be whom I imagined. Isn’t that obvious?

Achilles cried for his mother by the wave-frothed shores of
Troy. She heard him in the depths of the sea, rising as a mist
reconstitute in human form. You must choose, she told him,
Eternity in name only or a long, undistinguished life.

Aeneas simply retreated toward his destiny. My own life
moves on with or without me. This world, it’s said, is a world
of tears, a distillation of things in preparation for whatever’s
next.

My parents scatter their lives. Here, they say, Take what you
want, of their books, figurines, memorabilia. It’s hard to
choose. In age as in retreat, they hold this cloudburst of their
things before letting all go, the way our atmosphere recycles
rain.

Jeneva Stone (she/her) is a poet, essayist and advocate. She’s the author of Monster (Phoenicia Publishing, 2016), a hybrid meditation on caregiving, disability & medicine. Her work has appeared in NER, APR, Waxwing, Scoundrel Time, Cutbank, Posit, and others. She’s the recipient of fellowships from MacDowell, Millay Arts, and VCCA.