“Death has shaped me,”
You say quietly Over your cup The day we meet Not looking my way Too ashamed to admit That you find comfort in Your grief So you begin to love me Because I think I am dying Dying with my eyes open And my mouth closed Fists clenched, just slightly. And you learn to love Me in the tomb-like darkness Of your home in September I let you press your Hands against my back In the middle of winter And you come to know My body, when bare Is a map of scars; Remnants of my close encounters With my coming death Scars Leading all the way Back to the grave I’ve saved for myself I tell you there’s still Space In my family’s cemetery For more deaths Silently wishing You’ll want to lie with me, Someday. You look at me gravely And inhale. The air around us is dead In spring, The day before your father Buries you You kiss me Your lips wet, cold And I wonder if you See my map of scars Recharting And marking the smooth place You kissed Right in the nook Between my neck and shoulder A scar For my encounter with you.
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About ASma20-something y/o writer, activist, and youth worker in the Twin Cities. Stick around to read some of my thoughts! Archives
January 2018
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