Remains
by Madelin A. Medina
Mortar me into the façades of those buildings
down Rue de Dunkerque. Spread me like another
face of paint across their weathered wooden doors.
Then, encase me in a tomb beneath the cobblestone.
Burn me alive in the glow of the artificial lights
that flow through the corridors from room to room,
permeating apartment windows. At dawn, let me turn
to ash—the velvety powder off the white moth’s wings.
Drown me in the Seine—have my dress turn into arms
that reach for ankles, wrists, and shoulders; into fingers
that clench to bruise the skin. Find me beneath a bridge,
belly up and glass-eyed with river water in my lungs.
And, let them do what they please with what remains of me
when I arrive—a corpse—on the Atlantic’s western shore.
down Rue de Dunkerque. Spread me like another
face of paint across their weathered wooden doors.
Then, encase me in a tomb beneath the cobblestone.
Burn me alive in the glow of the artificial lights
that flow through the corridors from room to room,
permeating apartment windows. At dawn, let me turn
to ash—the velvety powder off the white moth’s wings.
Drown me in the Seine—have my dress turn into arms
that reach for ankles, wrists, and shoulders; into fingers
that clench to bruise the skin. Find me beneath a bridge,
belly up and glass-eyed with river water in my lungs.
And, let them do what they please with what remains of me
when I arrive—a corpse—on the Atlantic’s western shore.
Madelin A. Medina is a Dominican-American poet and writer based in Queens, New York where she resides with her husband and two young sons. She received her BA in English from Hofstra University. Her work has appeared in Coffin Bell Journal, [PANK] Magazine, What They Leave Behind: A Latinx Anthology, and elsewhere. She is also a recipient of the Nancy P. Schnader Academy of American Poets Award and winner of the 2022 Voyage YA Anthology Contest.