Death is a living poem – last updated: Dec 2, 2025
grieving is for the living
grief is constant/ revision
she is
coming soon
more oracles
more bumper stickers about dying
a tryptic of living, dying & the ferry
when he cannot sleep I
travelers, where will we sleep
when I dream of my brother I wake up/
he is like a son to me
hold his ghost against me, a child. all knees & blonde hair
I knew you first.
what to do with no headstone. the monument, everywhere *
*
* *
* *
*
In dreams we saw one another/ legs fell open like pages, eager *
. *
we climbed into one another/
and we waited by the window *. *
we grew up **
.
*
* through the years/ we all will be together if the fates allow
Rain fell off god’s tongue / the hundred year flood stuck to the windowsill. * *
Air
W
AIR
24
HOURS
AIR AIR
AIR AIR
The horoscope says I’m feeling rebellious
If it is and I dreamed and I snagged a hole in my baby doll
who collapsed into first a slow trickle of blood, then some genetic liquid while I panicked and played doctor to my grandmother’s disappointment?
* imagine a list of bliss a bliss list
* *
no rules about the list * but nothing that comes with
a receipt is on it except of course
berries, cherries, everything
In August I turned my back on sleep
* every photo was a photo of my son, every
starved infant I saw and I saw and still the rain came /
I felt us falling farther / an individual reality in each eye
hair loss, ocular migraine, hives, dry skin
but I alone must decide if that’s true
what does that say about me what does that say about me
I’ll go back to the horoscope
* Like everyone else I learned to cry
Now I make dinner even when I don’t feel like it
I sigh into the spaghetti, make a beautiful plate
Later I’ll dream I’d put my hands all the way into the dirt, up to my elbows
past the rotten layer of mulch with its weird ghost white flecks
digging my cave for a distant season/ pulling tricolor dahlia bulbs
no future to imagine
just a timely well balanced dinner
I can hold home inside my mouth like a cat does a bird / proud dead thing meets proud living thing
but I mean it– when I fall asleep, half flutter I time travel, am splayed on the porch couch of the sold house
so much brick and solid wood and the dust of us I’m there
muffled movements in the kitchen the cold pink of bathroom tile
a ghost I could never miss more than I do right now.
In the upstairs bedroom hang several fine gowns only my svelte gigi fit but they were too fine to part with
Alone I locked the door, stuffed the dresses up to my hips and pretended the blue tulle was a mermaids tail If I ever get married
my secret, that I’d thought about it before, of course I waited too long for anyone to see me off
and the dresses were sold in a lot.