by Aaron Sandberg
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
They are souls seeping into
the hospital curtains
to prove the lie of goodbye.
There they hide—refuse to rise.
Each ghost still hungry, eats, has eaten.
Nothing nourishes nor sustains.
They remain in fluorescent lights
confused for whites of an afterlife
before the night nurse knocks
them free to float, beaten.
They will not be contained
in caskets, plots, nor urns.
They do not go gentle. They rest in pain.
Up in heaven—they toss, they turn.
Aaron Sandberg has appeared or is forthcoming in The Offing, Asimov’s, phoebe, Lost Balloon, Flash Frog, Phantom Kangaroo, Qu, Alien Magazine, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Microfiction, and the Dwarf Stars Award, you can see him—and his writing—on Instagram @aarondsandberg.