It Stops Here
The remnants of my soul are to be scattered to the wind
It will be a solemn ceremony, one with an air of great
I started out with a glittering galaxy of stars within
I am flickering
shards of glass from when my light met earth and the earth
and the wispy smoke of a fire that has just been put
I imagine the bearers clothed in cloaks,
their faces hidden by hoods.
They gather my sole remains
and store them in satchels resting on their sides.
They wait for a sign—
The trill of a bird of strange feather,
The rising of a second moon—
before they begin to ascend.
It is a well-worn path—
I am not the first whose journey here ends—
and they know it well.
When they make it atop a mountain not of this earth,
a savagely cold wind will bite the air
and they will reach into their bags to feed the currents.
Wherever I end up,
Wish me luck.
Aaron Henry Aceves was born and raised in East L.A. He graduated from Harvard College, where he received the Le Baron Russell Briggs Award after being nominated by Jamaica Kincaid, and is currently attending Columbia University, where he studies Creative Writing. His writing has appeared in Germ Magazine, a magazine founded by YA author Jennifer Niven, and Raspa Magazine, a literary journal that focuses on the queer Latinx experience.