Cody Gohl

“Soft day”

Meme’s telling me about the first church she and grandpa ever led.

It was across the river in Mississippi,
a small congregation of farmers and their wives.

A happy time, she says–
a neighbor might drive by
with a truckload of watermelons,
leaving a mountain of green
at her door.

Dinners at giant wooden tables.

                        Girls twirling in calico dresses.

            Fireflies spiriting the weeds.

She recalls it all so vividly,
I almost forget
that she is dying.

Her mind is alight with feeling
and yet her body is so soft
I worry I might break her
as I reach to grab her hand.

This isn’t what I planned,
she tells me.

She stares out the window as a cardinal flies by.

It lands on a wrought iron table
and pecks at bits of seed.

I know what a cardinal means to my grandmother.

It’s grandpa and Aunt Jo,

            Aunt Eloise,

Bibbi,                 

                                   Poo,

               Bonnie,

Joanne,

                                                Uncle Jimmy,

                        Aunt Annette                     

Uncle Lynne,

every soul

                        that she’s outlived.

The world spins
as she wrestles
with her oneness.

We bring her guacamole and crackers.
She nibbles at the salt,
drinks a Dr. Pepper.

When we look back outside,
the cardinal

                                                is

gone.

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Cody Gohl is a Brooklyn-based poet exploring queerness, family, intimacy, and the odd, radiant moments that shape a life. His work appears or is forthcoming in Yīn Literary, Eunoia Review, Blood + Honey, and Cosmic Daffodil Journal. He is currently completing his debut poetry collection, January 2034. You can find him on Instagram @pico.de.gayo