When I Say Goodbye
A poem from 2020 to all the people counting down its death.
I ask that you do not forget me.
That in every mirror you look into
you see my black mask
choking your face.
In every toast you make,
remember the hands you
can not brush, the lips
you can not touch.
Hear my dry cough
of reckoning let it remind you
what it was like.
When I say goodbye,
It will be to an empty room,
I know. I spread wide to see
my departure in your glossy eyes.
When you say goodbye,
remember nothing
about the future is permanent.
Aigner Loren Wilson is a queer Black SFWA, HWA, and Codex writer. Her work has appeared in Arsenika, Terraform, Rue Morgue, and more. She was listed on the honors list for the Otherwise Fellowship award for 2019. She also writes or edits for Strange Horizons, Nightlight Horror Podcast, Oly Arts, Discover Pods, and more. She offers a writing craft newsletter to people who want to become better writers and publish quality pieces.
