cursing, like the psalms

in memory of Dellon Sanders

I grieved in the quiet ways

one does when their tear ducts 

don’t work properly. 

Before returning home,

I lay in the grass of a park

late at night. A rabbit darted by

through a passage in the bushes,

perhaps to Wonderland while I lay. 

I played the soft song from teens

back in the day comforting teens.

And perhaps sacrilegious, but I set aside

private space for the sacred profane

to watch Sixth Sense, anything with

ghosts, anything to tell me 

this was not the end.

Ellen Huang is published in Sword & Kettle Press, Grimoire, Vamp Cat, Ghost City, and The Poeming Pigeon, among others. Catch her blog exploring the intersections of faith, fairytale, & film at: