By Andrew Michael Roberts

Featured Art: Daedalus and Icarus by Giulio Romano

Not your sad little sister nor the boy of your youth some doors down who shot himself twice. Not even dirt. It churns for years and surfaces as something alive. We name it old names we know by their taste on our tongues. Humus and bone, a song in the blood. Hector, we’re all descendants of conquistadors and graveyards. If you were thrown a sword, you’d know how to hold it. Know which tombstones to walk behind, whistling. Which mountain to climb and when to take flight. How heavy your tired arms. Hector, look down on us tenderly before crossing over and descending into the desert. Remember us as the sand swallows and sings you. Before the sun takes you, cast your winged shadow across it. We are the grains in your grave. We are buried there with you.

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Andrew Michael Roberts lives in Seattle. He is the author of Dear Wild Abandon, winner of the 2007 PSA Chapbook Award, and Give Up, a chapbook from Tarpaulin Sky Press. He has an MFA from the University of Massachusetts Amherst, where he was a Juniper Fellow and also received the Distinguished Teaching Award. His work appears in such journals as Tin House, Iowa Review, LIT, Gulf Coast, Mississippi Review, and Quick Fiction.

Originally appeared in NOR 3