when the Lord comes again
they told me my body would
be new and rise to heaven but
I see it washed way in the stripping of
the earth, covered in blight and
bugs and mud slipping down the
hillside, like when we were children
sliding down the iridescent slippery slope,
into a ditch and clogging a storm drain – flooding.
My corpse is lukewarm and
spit out of red clay eater lips,
a mushy and half-eaten portion
for the chicks in the flooding
chicken house – nourishing.
No comments:
Post a Comment