Standing on soft grass

this earth-scented afternoon,

my hand sprouts violets

where fingers used to be.

I toss them into his grave.

When I try to speak

to the assemblage of crows,

my lips fly away

on a cardinal's wings

and perch on the limb

of a plum tree.


The sun shifts slightly,

and I step into a puddle

of light. My feet,

weightless and numb,

begin to melt.


While walking back

toward the cemetery gates,

the ivory in my bones

dissolves to sand.

Cell by cell,

my body evaporates.


                             Patty Dickson Pieczka


Home / Contact Us

© Copyright 2014 | Powered by