Last Stanza

This is the part of the song
that makes me want to dig
a very deep hole and climb in,
stare up unblinking at the blue
skies above, and simply wait
for the breezes to blow the dirt
back over me, speck by speck,
layer by layer,

the weight securing me gently
like a blanket at first, then feeling
oddly like a cat’s animal-heft, and
eventually like the pressure of another
human on top of me, which will remind
me of an embrace and distract me
from any last minute hesitation
until finally

the human-like mound of dirt
will grow so heavy upon me that I will
surrender to eternal sleep, unable
to inhale any more air, the same air
that shocked me into taking my first breath
so many years ago, the air that blew
through my curls as a young child,
golden as a country meadow,

the air that suddenly gusted
through our ceremony and parted
the clouds just as we exchanged vows,
as though the spirits of all who loved
before us were hastening our union;

the air that paled my cheeks
and chapped my hands after you left,
sitting alone in what was once our
tender garden;

the air that no longer interests me,
no longer inspires me, no longer aids me,
only prolongs things.

Claire Juno, ©2016