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john is rolling on the bare floor//an apartment he rented during the making of the white album//he’s trying to kick the heroin thing//yoko is kneeling next to him//wiping his forehead with a wet cloth//mommy’s here, she keeps saying//she’s dressed in velvet mini-skirt/ dark glasses/ lace collar//he keeps telling her he wants to die//paul calls & says things are looking up//they’re going to upgrade to eight-track at trident studio//wonderful she says//but he can’t come to the phone right now//crouching over john she tries to contain his shaking//his head rises then hits the floor//a dozen times//she tries to call the maharishi in rishikesh so he can talk to john//she can’t reach him//not even telepathically//john continues to shiver to curl himself// as if a roll of tightly wound tape//as in four-track//as if this could be the final mix//he keeps asking for more sugar//he becomes inaudible then strangely coherent//then the body tremors again//he pleads with yoko to kill him//do it for love he keeps repeating//i can’t she says//don’t be selfish, he screams//she tries to sing to him//she wants to paint the sea with her voice a calm sea//he keeps pleading until he screams to kill him she knows where his gun is//she cries//she wants to fly away & return when john will be quiet still & they can be virgins again//to calm him she agrees to kill him//she points the gun at his head// her hands shake like baby birds//do it repeats john do it because you love me//he stares up at the barrel of the gun//his body goes slack//his lips release a long-held silent tension//he has a vision of walking along an almost empty shore//he comes upon an ocean child with seashell eyes of bottomless blue//they stare at each other// familiar strangers in another dream//i need to be saved he says//follow me she says//he wades behind her into the ocean//the waves are thinning out are kind/ receptive//they walk until submerged//there are tiny fish of rainbow colors//there are octopi with hidden eyes//there are sting rays & red jellyfish//he follows her because he believes in her//he doesn’t need to breathe
About Kyle Hemmings
I am a retired health care worker. I have been published in Bones, Otata, Matchbook, and elsewhere. My passions include street photography, French Impressionism, and obscure garage bands of the 60s.
