Deadness Poem by Charlotte Ballard

Death arrived without
My knowing.
Clothes in twisted
Metal and shattered
Glass, he came
Silent and slow.

My fingers stiffened and
Dropped off
(at the third join)
Into a puddle-like mound of
Juicy bits, later
Thrown into a hungry hound.
But I unconcerned;
Having black nights, and
Cancerous,
Words grooved into
The six-foot sides
Of rich brown earth
Where fat earthworms wiggle and
Mold themselves
Into rings and things.

I counted tombstones
As a hobby
Until the pasty
Fog wafted in and
Clung ribbon-like
On the dead, faded flowers
And I could smell the scent of
Plastic flesh
Drifting up from a
Coffin that bore my name.

Later, I couldn't remember
If a private speech
Had been dribbled across my
Wooden couch and finally
Decided to query my neighbor
About the whole affair.

She stirred drunkenly
From the jellied blood
That had dripped off
A jauntily tipped tombstone
(Hers I think)
Into a dark hole
That had been recently dug.
Tiny maggots squirmed in protest
In the black cavity
Where her breath
Had once echoed. She spat out
A clot of earthen mud,
Splashing me as it landed.

'It was so sad, '
She giggled,
Gray strands from a matted braid
Twisted and flexed
In a sainted dance.
'Everybody wore their
Unhappy face and dribbled as
They walked.'
She rocked back
And slapped her patella with the
Edge of a three-fingered hand.
'Oh, ' I said while
Picking at a tangle nest of
Black rotted cord encircling
My wrist; scarcely noticing
When my own hand dropped off
Onto the rotted, molding remains of my skirt.
'Oh, ' I said again,
And wondered how long it would take
Until my body dissolved from the loving
Care of the Earthworms.