Delayed Response
You may write me a requiem.
You may sing me a song.
You may write me a poem.
You may send my parents flowers.
You may announce you always loved me.
You may sculpt a statue.
You may send my husband a card.
You may write my sister a letter.
But until you can see
the reality of you and me
Please,
Do not come to my funeral.
Partly Human
They were once the only human.
The person we knew and loved
is now broken bits of speech
and half-machinery.
Partly synthetic.
Fuzzy receptions.
They are partly edible
and have had morsels eaten from them.
Revealing the bite marks.
They have lost their totality
they have been stripped and peeled.
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
Partly.
But we
press on, in love with the
undying retentions.
The pieces we identify with
the skin.
The teeth.
The bone.
And that reaction, why,
That is also
Partly Human.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
Letter to Kate For William Blake My Catherine Sophia, as you would be known. You were just Kate. Child of Pity, full of mouth. Widened but i...
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
Telegram For William Carlos Williams To{Florence Herman RECEIVED DIFFICULT NEWS /stop. ARE YOU AT ALL AVAILABLE?/stop. JUST BOUGHT THE HOUSE...
-
That previous December, a little voice was coyly in-treat-ing: "Take an angry butcher knife to your hair, and paint it the color of a s...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
like a hand that holds an ankle, I felt powerful in your arms this dancing, this pointed push, this bygone cloud. with my face in your belly...
-
At age 25 for Sir John Donne Down went San Felipe. Crimson and pale, rippling, clinging to it's mist. Oh, how that flagship hurled itsel...
Poets United Contributor
Not sure what you're meaning by the first one but "But until you can see
ReplyDeletethe reality of you and me
Please,
Do not come to my funeral" is really powerful for me...
I am with you there, sister. lol.
ReplyDelete