On My Last Gasp Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I want my last gasp,
To be a poet's gasp,
That salutes the world,
Announcing my bowing out,
With words read loud,
Pronouncing with respectful,
Commas that courtesy with
The grace of heavenly nymphs.

I want to look behind and see,
Seed popping moist with my
Watering, fruit ripening
And ready for the picking.

I want to smell lavender,
That takes me under, and
Lays my head in heavenly
Smells, that fill the downstairs
Where my nostrils yield, in
The final place of surrender,
For I will have perfumed the
World we live in with wonder.

I want to bow out to a gun salute,
Fired with pens held by writers,
At a poetic angle that asks what
They will do now that one of
Their own has fallen.

I want to trouble minds so that,
The poets cough out answers,
With a poetry that will feed,
On the love of an art we have
Grown to love, that our hearts
Burst from the love of it.

I do not want to go out with
Mourners, quoting my last twit,
And then have a sudden lasting fit,
When a god forsaken hecker threatens,
To take it away so I have nothing
To attest I was here, forcing
My friends to pad my obituary.
With lies and quotations from
The King James version of the
Only book that accompanies saints
And gets read outside the hole
Declaring the obvious truths.