vie.

i write what lingers

[bonepsalm]

summer, 2021.

[bonepsalm]

what are heaven’s visitation hours?

[bonepsalm]

tiramisu in bed.

[bonepsalm]

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

I can’t believe it’s been 2,069 years since Julius Caesar was assassinated, ( crazy, it felt like yesterday he was still around ).

To mark this occasion, I wrote & publish my first poem on substack, inspired by this glorious holiday! It’s my first time using substack so I hope the formatting is okay, but I’d appreciate if you guys can check it out! (: please! please! please!

For the Ides of March

History remembers the moment the knife appears. What it rarely remembers is the moment before—the promise that made the blade possible.

okay time to disappear before I get stabbed next.

[astriloquum]

[bonepsalm]

Naranjas En La Palma De Su Mano / Oranges In The Palm of His Hand

Todavía puedo olerlas antes de verlas,

una fragancia dorada que flota en el aire—

cítricos frescos, como el sol atrapado en su cáscara.

Abuelo las sostenía en sus manos callosas,

con la misma ternura que la tierra abraza sus raíces.

Con la uña del pulgar, deslizaba la piel con paciencia,

sin apretar demasiado, sin derramar el jugo de su corazón.

Me miraba, con una media sonrisa y un leve asentimiento,

mientras partía la naranja en dos, tan fácil como si partiera el cielo.

"Toma, es buena para ti."

Si dudaba, su ceja se alzaba con dramatismo.

"Anda, cómetela antes de que me enoje," solía decir,

la broma danzando en su lengua, su risa en el aire.

Y yo, con un suspiro fingido, cedía siempre,

porque cómo decirle que no a las manos que me alimentaron de amor.

El jugo era dulce, a veces con un beso de amargura,

pero siempre generoso, desbordándose entre mis dedos.

Me reía, las manos pegajosas, la culpa derramándose en mi regazo.

Él reía más fuerte, con la voz del viento entre los árboles,

señalándome, con sus ojos llenos de burla tierna.

"No es mi culpa, es la naranja," protestaba yo.

"O tal vez es tu culpa, Abuelo."

Ahora las naranjas me miran desde el frutero,

la misma fragancia, el mismo sol en su piel.

Las pelo con la misma paciencia que él,

aunque mis manos no son las suyas, aunque la risa ya no resuena igual.

Rompo la fruta en dos, siento su peso en mis palmas.

Miro a mi hermano, a mi hermana, a quien esté a mi lado.

"Toma, es buena para ti."

Y por un momento, el eco de su risa vuelve a casa.

—vie.

English Translation

I can still smell them before I see them,

a golden fragrance drifting in the air—

fresh citrus, like sunlight trapped in its skin.

Grandfather held them in his calloused hands,

with the same tenderness the earth gives its roots.

With the edge of his thumb, he peeled the rind with patience,

never pressing too hard, never spilling the juice of its heart.

He would glance at me, a half-smile, a slight nod,

as he broke the orange in two, as if splitting the sky itself.

"Take some, it's good for you."

If I hesitated, his brow would lift in mock sternness.

"Go on, eat it before I get mad," he would say,

the joke dancing on his tongue, laughter thick in the air.

And I, with a sigh of pretend defeat, always caved—

because how could I refuse the hands that fed me love?

The juice was sweet, sometimes kissed with tartness,

but always generous, spilling between my fingers.

I would laugh, my hands sticky, guilt pooling in my lap.

He would laugh louder, like the wind through the trees,

pointing at me, his eyes full of playful mischief.

"It’s not my fault, it’s the orange," I would protest.

"Or maybe it’s your fault, Abuelo."

Now the oranges watch me from the fruit bowl,

the same fragrance, the same sunlight in their skin.

I peel them with the same patience he once did,

though my hands are not his, though the laughter is softer now.

I break the fruit in two, feel its weight in my palms.

I look at my brother, my sister, whoever sits beside me.

"Take some, it's good for you."

And for a moment, his laughter finds its way home.

—vie.

*.ೃ༄

This poem is dedicated to my Abuelo ( grandpa ). Lately, my mom has been buying oranges more often than usual, oranges were my Abuelo’s favorite fruit, grief is a troubling thing to deal with and while I’ve grown accustomed to his absence. There isn’t a day that goes by where I do not think of him. I almost rarely never write poetry in my first language, learning English as a child has become my main language now, and while I do speak Spanish I don’t feel as proud of it was I used to due to my pronunciation on some words ( this applies when I speak English too, as some words are hard for me to say due to my lisp ). I’d like to think he’d liked this poem, probably brag about it, after all he was that type of man. Without getting more sentimental & dragging the caption longer then needed, my Abuelo was more than just my grandfather; he was a father figure in my life & a piece of him will always linger inside me just as the tears in my body never leaving.

*.ೃ༄

Q: should I post more poems in Spanish? I also have a couple of short stories, I’m not sure if you guys would be interested in that, would you?

────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ────────

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Stages of Decomposition

The decomposition process occurs in several stages following death:

Pallor mortis

Algor mortis

Rigor mortis

Cadaveric spasm

Lividity

Putrefaction

Decomposition

Skeletonization

PALLOR MORTIS

The first stage of death.

Occurs once blood stops circulating in the body.

The cessation of an oxygenated blood flow to the capillaries beneath the skin causes the deceased to pale in appearance.

In non-Caucasians, the pallor may appear to develop an unusual hue; the skin will lose any natural lustre and appears more waxen.

Occurs quite quickly, within about 10 minutes after death.

ALGOR MORTIS

The cooling of the body after death.

The cooling process will be influenced by many factors, including the deceased’s clothing, or whether they are covered with bed linen such as blankets or duvets.

The body will typically cool to the ambient room temperature, but this alters if there is heating in the room or if there is a constant draught cooling the body.

RIGOR MORTIS

Can occur between 2 and 6 hours after death.

Factors including temperature can greatly affect this.

Caused by the muscles partially contracting, and the lack of aerobic respiration means that the muscles cannot relax from the contraction, leaving them tense, subsequently resulting in the stiffening we associate with rigor mortis.

This stage typically begins in the head, starting with the eyes, mouth, jaw and neck, and progresses right through the body.

The process is concluded approximately 12 hours after death (although, again, certain variables may occur) and lasts between 24 and 72 hours depending on circumstances.

Contrary to popular belief, rigor mortis is not a permanent state and is in fact reversed, with the muscles relaxing in the same order in which they initially stiffened.

The reversing process also takes approximately 12 hours, when the body returns to its un-contracted state.

It is possible to ‘break’ rigor mortis by manipulating and flexing the limbs. This is usually done by undertakers, pathologists or crime scene investigators who are attempting to examine or move a body – or by a murderer trying to hide their victim in the closet or the boot of a car.

CADAVERIC SPASM

A phenomenon that can be misinterpreted as rigor mortis.

The instantaneous stiffening of the body (most commonly the hands) following a traumatic death.

Unlike rigor mortis, the stiffening of the affected limb is permanent and is not reversed, causing the deceased to maintain the rigidity until such time as putrefaction causes breakdown of the particular muscle group.

Examples:

The deceased following an air crash were later discovered still clutching their seatbelts or arm rests in a final, desperate act of survival.

In a drowning case, the victim was discovered with grass from the riverbank still grasped in their hand.

Perhaps the most famous case of cadaveric spasm involves the rock band Nirvana’s lead singer, Kurt Cobain. Cobain reportedly committed suicide in April 1994. His body was discovered a few days after his death with a shotgun wound to the head, and tests revealed he had large traces of heroin in his system. He was reportedly discovered still clutching the gun in his left hand, due to cadaveric spasm. However, a great deal of controversy surrounds the veracity of this latter assumption, and indeed the cause of his death, with many people insisting and attempting to prove that he died as the result of foul play rather than suicide.

LIVIDITY

Also known as livor mortis, hypostasis, or suggillation.

Once blood can no longer circulate, it will gravitate towards the lowest point of the body.

Example: A supine body will display pinkish/purple patches of discoloration where the blood has settled in the back and along the thighs.

Occurs about 30 minutes after death, but will not necessarily be noticeable until at least 2 hours afterwards as the pooling process intensifies and becomes visible, finally peaking up to between 8 and 12 hours later.

Once it is complete, the lividity process cannot be reversed.

Therefore a body discovered lying on its side, but with staining evident in the back and shoulders, must have been moved at some point from what would have been a supine position at the time of death.

It is worth noting that if the body has had contact with the floor, a wall or other solid surface, lividity would not occur at the points of contact as the pressure would not allow the blood to seep through the capillaries and pool. The specific area of pressure will be the same colour as the rest of the body and a pattern of contact may well be evident.

PUTREFACTION

Derives from the Latin putrefacere, meaning ‘to make rotten’.

The body becomes rotten through the process known as autolysis, which is the liquefaction of bodily tissue and organs and the breakdown of proteins within the body due to the increased presence of bacteria.

The first visible sign is the discoloration of the skin in the area of the abdomen.

Bacteria released from the intestine cause the body to become bloated with a mixture of gases; over time these will leak out, and the smell will intensify to unbearable proportions.

Typically, this will attract flies that will lay eggs, which develop into maggots.

Bloating is most evident in the stomach area, genitals and face, which can become unrecognizable as the tongue and eyes are forced to protrude due to the pressure of the build-up of gases in the body.

At this stage, the body will also begin to lose hair.

The organs typically decompose in a particular order: starting with the stomach, followed by the intestines, heart, liver, brain, lungs, kidney, bladder and uterus/prostate.

Once all the gases have escaped the skin begins to turn black: this stage is called ‘black putrefaction’.

As with all the other stages of death so far, the rate of putrefaction depends on temperature and location. A body exposed to the air above ground will decompose more quickly than a body left in water or buried below ground.

During putrefaction, blistering of the skin and fermentation can also occur:

Fermentation - a type of mould that will grow on the surface of the body. This mould appears white, and is slimy or furry in texture. It also releases a very strong, unpleasant, cheesy smell.

As the putrefaction process comes to an end, fly and maggot activity will become less, which leads to the next stage.

DECOMPOSITION

The body is an organic substance comprising organisms that can be broken down by chemical decomposition.

If the body is outside, any remains that have not been scavenged or consumed by maggots will liquefy and seep into the surrounding soil.

Thus when the body decomposes it is effectively recycled and returned to nature.

SKELETONIZATION

The final stage of death is known as ‘dry decay’, when the cadaver has all but dried out: the soft tissue has all gone and only the skeleton remains.

If the cadaver is outside, not only is it exposed to the elements but it also becomes food for scavengers such as rats, crows or foxes.

As the remains are scavenged, the body parts become dispersed so it is not unusual to find skeletal remains some distance from where the body lay at the point of death.

The way in which skeletal remains are scattered in such cases is of interest to archaeologists, and is referred to as taphonomy.

Where a body has lain undiscovered at home for a period of time it has also been known for family pets, typically dogs, to feed on the body. The natural instinct of a pet is to attempt to arouse the deceased by licking them, but once it gets hungry, its survival instinct will take over and it will consider the body as little more than carrion: it will act with the same natural instinct as a scavenger in the wild, which will feed on any corpse, be it animal or human, if it is starving.

Obviously the number of pets, the body mass of the deceased and the time lapse before the body is discovered will influence to what extent it has been devoured.

For further research on the stages of decomposition and the factors that affect it, look up body farms. These are medical facilities where bodies are donated for research purposes so scientists can specifically observe the decomposition process. However, be aware that some of the images are quite graphic.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Autopsy ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Injuries Bereavement ⚜ Death & Sacrifice ⚜ Cheating Death ⚜ Death Conceptions

Writing Resources PDFs

[doreenchloepoetry]

happy international women’s day, 2025

[bonepsalm]

Soft Paws, Hard Spines

She does not count the difference in fur and thorn,

does not press her nose to the fault lines where softness

breaks into bristles. They are hers, because the night

delivered them to her breast, trembling, motherless.

Their mother—

her breath now a silence in the tall grass,

a hushed thing swallowed by the wind.

The moon watches over her stiffened frame,

her children left blinking in the dark.

But the ginger one comes, amber-eyed and resolute,

a hush of warmth against the cold orphan-scattered earth.

She gathers them between her paws,

licks the scent of sorrow from their backs,

teaches them the rhythm of a purring heart.

Her kitten, all milk-drunk and drowsy,

meets their black bead eyes and knows:

these, too, are his own. They do not look alike,

and yet—

he curls around them, shares his mother’s lullaby,

lets them press their needled faces

into his unguarded belly.

A mother is a shelter, a bridge of breath between life and loss.

Not blood, but the way she does not flinch

when the smallest one pricks her tongue,

when the night folds heavy over her children

and she stays, a beacon of warmth in the dark.

Love does not ask for likeness.

Love only knows the sound of a heartbeat,

the weight of tiny bodies trusting in the dark.

And so she loves them, all the same—

her child of silk, her children of thorns.

— vie.

˚.・

This poem is based off Sonya, a ginger cat who fostered a group of orphan hedgehogs & raised them as her own, among her own little kitten. I came across the post during my break ( or was it after? I’m not sure I work nights, it’s hard to tell ) at work, I tend to get emotional during ( & after ) work— working til 5am is not for the weak. The post made me feel happy, it also gave me inspiration to write this poem. I truly believe, a mother, is someone who loves & cares for their children whether or not they’re related by blood. It brings me warmth to see this among animals, especially when these little ones lost their own mother. I tried to include the picture of Sonya, the kitten, and the baby hedgehogs in the background.

I wrote this almost 2 weeks ago, but never sat down to design the poem, I’ve been too tired & burned out from work among other things. But I finally got up to finish it instead of bed-rotting, I have so many poems to share so I can’t wait for that. I want to continue writing whether or not people see it, as long as my writing is out in the world for someone to enjoy, that’s enough for me.

⋆.˚

Q: Do we like the new theme I’m rolling with? I feel like I can never stay with one single theme, my designs ( & by that I mean using Pinterest, Canva, & Picsart ) is always changing & I find consistency to be hard; at least when presenting my work.

⊱ ───────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ──────── ⊰

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— beau taplin

[mournfulroses]

Ottessa Moshfegh, from "Eileen: A Novel," originally published in 2015

[existentialyearning]

Salma Deera, "Salt"

[deviika]

Alice Notley // Warsan Shire

[velartis]

Franz Kafka, 1912

[dark-augustine]

Me to myself

[aridante]

what resembles the grave but isn’t, anne boyer // i didn’t apologize to the well, mahmoud darwish (trans. fady joudah).

[ptimepoet]