by Neil Hilborn
coming back to earth. When the nickel
stars settle in the dust, we hang upside-down,
dangling like marionettes from our seatbelts.
We unbuckle them, fall to the ceiling
that was never meant to be a floor.
Her collarbone is broken, the same one
she fractured at six years old.
The glass is flung around the car
in a perfect halo orbit, we’re freezing
in our own solar system.
As I’m blinking in and out
of consciousness, she speaks
to me in a voice that comes from
just behind my ear, she says:
"All that has ever mattered is volume
and if you turn up the speakers
past the point of sound, to deafening
silence, you will hear me again,
I will whisper your name
from the cracks in the canyon rocks
and you will know that this is heaven,
knowing that someone will always remember
your irises and where you hid your love
letters and why you could never speak
in anything but short sentences.
It’s not a golden escalator
or a glowing choir conveying you
into the sky. The hand of God
does not reach down and pluck you
from your earthly shell, no,
the way to heaven is here, in your
last moments, these last half-seconds
before your soul shivers out of your bones.
You will see the candle on your first
birthday cake, the brush of your mother’s
braids, smell your father’s shaving cream
on the day he taught you there is a tornado
in your throat. You will hear our whispered
phone calls, our entwined I love you’s
and their softness will weigh down on you.
Heaven is an exhausted horse
laying down to die, it’s you and your
ceiling fan conversing in whispers, Heaven
is floating to earth in this already-shattered car.
I will lie here forever and sing to you all the things
I stopped myself from saying when we were alive."
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the editors and staff of the publications in which the following poems, in various versions, have appeared:
Orange Quarterly: “Our Numbered Days”
Viral: “OCD”
I would like to thank Anny for always being my best friend; Sam, Dylan, Michael, and Riley for knowing where I need to be and what I need to be doing; my mother Marilyn for being the best mother; my brother Paden for being the best brother; Hieu for being the best Hieu; Ryan for being dope at producing my record; Sue and everyone at The College Agency for keeping me in shoes without holes; and everyone who has ever bought my books, listened to my poems, edited my poems, booked me for a show, or laughed at one of my stupid jokes. You are why this book is something you can hold in your hands.
About the Author
Neil Hilborn is a College National Poetry Slam champion, and a 2011 graduate with honors from Macalester College with a degree in Creative Writing. Neil was a member of the Macalester Poetry Slam team which ranked first at the 2011 College National Poetry Slam. He co-coached the 2012 Macalester team, leading them to a second place finish nationally. He was also a member of the Minneapolis adult National Poetry Slam team in 2011, which placed 5th out of 80 teams from cities across the country at the adult National Poetry Slam. He is the co-founder of Thistle, a Macalester literary magazine, and he runs writing workshops and performs at colleges and high schools around the country.
Other Books by Button Poetry
Aziza Barnes, me Aunt Jemima and the nailgun.
J. Scott Brownlee, Highway or Belief
Sam Sax, A Guide to Undressing Your Monsters
Nate Marshall, Blood Percussion
Mahogany L. Browne, smudge
Sierra DeMulder, We Slept Here
Danez Smith, Black Movie
Cameron Awkward-Rich, Transit
Jacqui Germain, When the Ghosts Come Ashore
Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib, The Crown Ain’t Worth Much
Aaron Coleman, St. Trigger