Poetry By Brianna Fay

       jon oropeza CC




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​Final Round

1. Because, after Grandma died, we toasted to her with spiced rum. Later that night, when I thought I saw her shadow in the room in their basement, the familiar burning in my throat and chest returned. I had made a mistake. 
2. Because, on my birthday, at the gothic bar in the South Wedge, Ross asked if anybody wanted a final round. I was the only one who said yes, sipping on my whiskey sour at half past two in the morning. We then went our separate ways in the snow-covered April night. Kayla drove me home. 
3. Because, Chase died at 25 in September. The pills foamed up at the back of his throat and overtook him. He was alone in his apartment, and I think most of him felt alone in this world when he died. 
4. Because, I don’t want to die.

Awfulness

Dad and I stay up
to watch the moon turn red. 
I resist the urge to wake my mom, 
To show off to her the changing sky. 

Two months before my junior year
we camped out on the front lawn
under the pear tree
Erin and I, laying in the cool grass. 

We were still friends then, sisters.
Kaylee was still wagging her black and white tail.
The awfulness is just setting in. 

Before that, on the back deck.
We watched the moon turn red
From pink saucer chairs. 

We were children then, 
No awfulness.
Little girls, 
Craning back our necks 
To get the best possible view of a disappearing moon.

I never used to believe in signs. 
But now, looking at a moon basked
in red like blood, 
I wonder if it could be a sign. 

I wonder if the eclipse, 
Like magic, 
Could purge the awfulness within me
And fill the void that’s left. 

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The Staircase

“It’s so beautiful there.” 
Is the first thing she said to me a month before she passed, 
My grandmother. 
Terry, from Parkchester. 
Two months shy of 90 years. 

Waving me down to her beside 
Like a little girl with a secret, 
She pulled her oxygen mask down to tell me about Heaven, 
Which she’d seen from the same hospital bed 
Only two days before. 

My Grandmother, from Huntington, 
Has seen Heaven more times than any person
I think

More times than Jacob saw his staircase, 
Even more than Ezekiel saw those burning chariots 
Dancing in the sky. 
My Grandmother, humbly, knew God better than the prophets. 

And when she died at 23,
The whole of the world hinged on her decision to stay or go
And when she died at 53,
When she saw herself at the top of a mountain in a room made of glass,
She chose to stay. 

“It’s so beautiful there.”
Is what she told me. 
But what she meant to say was, 
Even though it’s so beautiful there, 

It’s beautiful here.

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Brianna Fay lives in Rochester New York with her rescue puppy, Molly. She is published in several literary journals including Tipping the Scales, Havik, and The Underground. She is also the honorable mention recipient of the Havik: Inside Brilliance award. When not writing, Brianna loves her job as a hostess and enjoys knitting. 
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