Tag: Death

An engraving after a photograph of Teresa Stolz (1834–1902): a Bohemian-born soprano and one of Verdi's favorite singers. She famously sang Aida in the opera's European premiere at La Scala in 1872. Here she stands in a confident three-quarter pose, her right hand planted on her hip and her left arm hanging relaxed at her side. She gazes off to the left with a serious, determined expression, with strong dark brows and a steady stare. Her long, dark, wavy hair falls past her shoulders. The costume is an elaborate 19th-century theatrical idea of an Ethiopian princess: A jeweled band across her forehead with a large round ornament at the temple, topped with a plume of feathers, long drop earrings, a broad beaded collar necklace in an Egyptian style, armbands on her upper arm, and bracelets on both wrists. Public domain. For “My P.U.”

“My P.U.” and Other Poems by Paul Hostovsky

aromatica poetica October 6, 2026

Crumbs Whenever she ate she talked about food, all the magnificent repasts of her past, with her mouth full. And he’d sit across from her and watch the food on her plate grow smaller and more insignificant with each description of some towering feast or exquisite confection of her youth. She’d close her eyes to remember, shaking her head as if to say, “No, you can’t really see it from here.” Then she’d open her eyes and he’d feed on …

A small, ragged-edged rectangular slab looks like a fragment of weathered, earthen material, its surface dense with grit, cracks, and compressed fibers. Carved into the center is a sinuous, worm-like “S” shape that dips and curves across the panel. The groove is filled with a coarse, brick-red pigment that sits unevenly in the trench, giving it a textured, raised, almost crumbly feel. The surrounding brown surface appears rough and organic, as if the whole piece were excavated from soil or made of compacted earth. The contrast between the matte, mottled brown field and the vivid, tactile red line makes the form appear both primal and deliberately inscribed. Made for “The Worms.”

“The Worms” * Nonfiction * David Lowe

aromatica poetica December 3, 2025

The worms live in our basement, in two large storage bins stacked on the floor amid the clutter. Eventually, when I’ve built out more shelves and cabinets, they’ll have their own oversize drawers I can easily slide out when it’s time to feed them. I’ll carve the word WORMS into the wood, knowing that when Caroline and I are dead, new owners will puzzle over what was meant by WORMS. I mean worms. Red wigglers; Eisenia fetida in the Latin. …

Safranal molecule (C3H10O) represented in a honeycomb kind of figure, overlaid with a botanical drawing of Saffron (Crocus Sativus), featuring red stigmas and styles (the threads of saffron), purple petals, green skinny leaves, and the corn that is part of the root system.

“Safranal” & Other Poems by Lora Berg

aromatica poetica October 11, 2023

Safranal We happened on a nest of Crocus Sativus, petal, stigma, style, strands of saffron lolling over lilac rims, and slid our hands close to the earth to pluck them, three per bloom. Evocations: * Jeweled rice of Persia * Paella in Andalucia * Amish golden broth * Under the counter, in the old Tunis souk * High up, in Mama’s kitchen cabinet * Curled in Grandpa’s crystal pill box * bittersweet notes reaching back in time * to Minoa, …

This creative and whimsical image features a large, brown dog's head and nose in space, hovering above a small Earth. The dog (probably a Basset Hound) has droopy ears and a calm expression. The Earth is depicted with blue oceans and green and brown land masses—you can make out the general shapes of continents such as North and South America, Africa, and parts of Europe and Asia. The background is a starry night sky with various galaxies and stars. The starry background appears to be a photograph, while the dog and the Earth seem to be drawn or digitally created, giving the image a mix of realism and illustration. Illustration by Alabaster Rhumb, description by Be My AI, lightly edited.

“The Nose of the World” * Fiction * Amber Burke

aromatica poetica September 20, 2023

Because you are good to me, and because I pity you for all the things you do not know, and because I want you to understand me, I will tell you how the world smells. If you could know the truth of it, you would wake up the way I wake up, besieged, inveigled, incredulous, impatient, the iridescent scent of hummingbirds already burning my nostrils: the smells, the smells! I need you to open the door so I can throw …

The top of a willow tree with four birds sitting in its branches. All is saturated in yellow with a blue, blue sky. From MLJ.

“Willow Tree Poem” & More Plus Recordings by Michael Lee Johnson

aromatica poetica February 16, 2023

I Age (V2) Arthritis and aging make it hard, I walk gingerly, with a cane, and walk slow, bent forward, fear threats, falls, fear denouement─ I turn pages, my family albums become a task. But I can still bake and shake, sugar cookies, sweet potato, lemon meringue pies. Alone, most of my time, but never on Sundays, friends and communion, United Church of Canada. I chug a few down, love my Blonde Canadian Pale Ale, Copenhagen long cut a pinch …

A photo of a coyote digging a hole with his nose in it, and green grass behind. For Sneezing Coyotes by Salvatore Marici.

“Sneezing Coyotes” & Other Poems * Salvatore Marici

aromatica poetica August 22, 2021

Sneezing Coyotes Day before the vet injects barbiturates on top of Valium, damp autumn dusk settles in the prairie behind my house. Whisky burns my belly. I dig her grave thigh deep. Tonight, the moon’s surface reflects the sun, spreads silvery light over native plants, Coyotes sniff the hole’s fresh-turned soil. Today, the last heat this black cat will generate, leaves, passes through her cardboard coffin warms my lap. Ruby curls as if asleep in her basket on the windowsill …

A gray New York City scene in the age of the virus – a man with shopping bags wears a mask and rushes across the street.

“Virus in the Air, Spasms in my Back” & Other Poems by Michael Lee Johnson

aromatica poetica April 1, 2021

Virus in the Air, Spasms in my Back There’s a virus in the air, but I can’t see it. People are dying around me, but I can’t save them. There are spikes pierced in my back, spasms, but I can’t touch them. Heartbeats, hell pulsating, my back muscles, I covet in my prayers. I turn right to the left, in my bed, then hang still. Nails impaled, I bleed hourly, Jesus on that cross. Now 73 years of age, my half-sister …

A drawing of a boy in a rowboat on a dark blue lake. He is looking directly at the viewer and in the background are trees and fog rolling in over them. The image is framed as if in a photograph. By Alabaster Rhumb for “The Particle He Has Become.”

“The Particle He Has Become” * Poetry * Nina Sääskilahti

aromatica poetica March 26, 2021

From a room to another I wander and wonder Where is he? Are there any traces of him left? Last night I had this dream We were five in an old wooden rowing boat in a fog so thick no one could say where the boat was heading And the next day the funeral arrangements for the deceased man in a photograph in an old wooden rowing boat smiling sun shining nothing but blue sky and the depths of his …

A stylized cemetery on a black and dark grey-blue color field, with a mausoleum in the distance and two tombstones and a cross grave marker in the foreground. The center tombstone is lit up and on it hangs a bright purple feather boa with a vase of lavender in front of it. by Alabaster Rhumb.

“The Smell of Purple” * Fiction * Rainie Zenith

aromatica poetica January 7, 2021

Before my grandmother died, we would walk down to the cemetery, sit on the bench that faced the road and count cars. Just the red ones. When the count reached ten, we’d walk back up the hill to Gran’s house for a cup of tea and a shortbread biscuit. The most amazing thing about Gran’s house was the bathroom. It was purple in every sense of the word. That is, it was painted mauve and always smelled like lavender, from …

A charming drawing of a bee in a bluebell, its stripes and stinger just visible beneath the blue petals. By Alabaster Rhumb for Love Stings.

“Love Stings” * Flash Fiction * Samantha Meddaugh

aromatica poetica November 2, 2020

I impatiently burst through the opening of our stuffy home where we have been secluded for several long months and take in the fresh air. The sun shines so brightly and beautifully in my compound eyes. My yellow stripes gleam like sunlight, my black stripes dark as night. My name is Phoenix, and I’m a young female worker bee. Spring is almost over, and summer is making its move, filling the days with a welcoming warmth. As my antennae take …