Like Ice on Porcelain
I was moved to confusion
by the rapid motion of people
on sidewalks
I closed the open window
then allowed ice water
to run down my chest.
Like ice on porcelain.
This night I will wait for a visitor
who will not come
who will say they were delayed
by the weather
or a death in the family, and
I will be glad that I had a friend at least
once.
People in odd clothes will appear
at my door
while I am in the shower
I will answer their calls naked
and a lady will tell me my chest
looks like porcelain
and ice.
This indecent procession of the dead
does not have to arrive by the front door
but does so to honor me
and I have asked “Why honor me?”
but they only say in their quiet way
“Go to bed now”.
~
Like Cabbages In the Field
Whoever thought death
could not be held at bay
are not children sustained
by the decay of our bodies
like cabbages in the field
nourished by dead fish
I have rebelled against so much
without realizing the abruptness of forever
I should have been more aware of you
smelled the perfume of your hair
your child’s skin.
We parted so many times
without thought
of returning
else I would not have left but
pitched my camp on your lawn and
lived the life of a wanderer watching you
following you everywhere you went
even to your dissatisfaction
just to fill my cup of you
in preparation.
I ask if will we meet again
as if it were the first time
as at your birth
Or is this separation
a lesson in forgetfulness
merely the confiscation
of a life-giving part of me.
If I could reanimate you
by doing so
I would amputate every part of me
I would give you even my memories
leaving nothing for myself
For in navigating
between this place
and yours
I have learned something
There is numbness
in forgetting.
~
Woman With a Golden Box
There is a golden box, carried
in the arms of a dark haired woman.
This is a bridge
to understanding.
There on your hill
while watching a white sail
or the evening stars,
you will see a blurring
of their shapes
and know
that she has passed.
