Burying the other - final poem from the final section.
Burying the other
A silent child's hand on a jacket,
the ticking of my grandfather's watch
and the shovel's in the dirt.
They lowered your body into the ground,
exquisite from a distance.
The spirit plummets and the shovel's in the dirt.
You are tumbling down,
down into some worm fed slumber.
Down with my green paper demons
whose teeth chatter and chew on the
fat black stake in your heart.
They faced you down, down
but the memory, the silent destroyer
gently nurtures you from the belly of the earth
up to some sky facing hatch
I force you down, down
I tie up my stomach of emotions.
A bunch of close knit flowers,
Every stem a different regret
and cut the ribbon to the inch.
Let them rot with you, my forgotten cross
With the shovel in the dirt at your temple.