Poems from Virginia, #3

Death deserves its own uncovery

That’s like a discovery that’s been hiding under the surface

Flip over that large flat stone

And that discarded log

View the beetles and worms

Feed on the dead

Detritus

From ashes to ashes

From dirt thus is life

I worry about you, up there

So far from the soil

When you fall, it will feel that much farther

I don’t think you’ve ever walked upon the gravel, descalços

I need you to like pain, just a little bit

Then, I think, we will be free to write the kingdom of our dreams

Here in reality

Poems from Virginia, #1

I am the soil upon which the rest of my life grows. Once depleted forever gone. I am the gardener.

Does it feel good to till one’s own ribcage? Tear through the intercostals? Rip up the transverse obliques. What are you searching for, with this “tilling”?

The diaphragm underneath; the hummus of good clean soil depends on its layers of padding. Till up my body

take away my parka

feel fertile and free for just moments and then die.

Leave me uncovered. Leave me in a pile of leaves. Leave me buried in the earth and reap my bounty.

One Last Poem from New York

the pace with which we have been rattling

about is unsustainable

 

Go back to your childhood

cherry pick memories

 

get lost in a story

and don’t come out

 

unless it is to confront yourself

for real

your adult self

in the true, physical world

Poems from New York, #23

E.D. 

Today I wonder if I’ve been running from my future

The way I’ve never learned she ran

Did she know all along

What is means to stay in the house all day

(The homeplace)

And not come out?

Or at one point, like me, did she move to New York City?

I don’t know, I can’t remember

Both her life and my 5th grade project on it

Seem so long ago.