Erica Lewis


Wake


The pallor of my skin changes
in cycles, from gold to grey.

There is a knock at the door
then a key in the lock.
I see a familiar face, and others,
familiar in their uniforms.

Now that I can walk again,
I am being wheeled out, still.

I am not embarrassed by my nudity
but by inability to explain
to this gentleman, this stranger,
donned in gown and mask and gloves,
why my body is distorted, mutated.

There is a slightly puzzled look on his face
as he straightens my thighs,
pushes down on my kneecaps
only to have my legs spring back
into their frog-like position.

At least give me this one last dignity.
Please don't write, "Cause unknown".

Another man in gown, mask, gloves.
My flesh again golden, blistering.
The fat that imprisoned me, melting away.
The muscles that defied me, destroyed.

Chunks of bone ground up, ashes sifted,
poured into a plastic bag,
placed into a small cardboard box,
labelled and shelved.

I hear the cry of a newborn
but that is not my reincarnation.

I think I shall be a bird, a crane
at the front of the vee,
sleek wings outstretched, gliding
the Himalayan updraft,
the peak of Everest below me.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 03, 2015

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Comments about this poem (Wake by Erica Lewis )

  • Freshman - 896 Points Suburban Lovechild (2/7/2015 10:36:00 PM)

    Great write, I like the abstract spectator view of the departed, humanizes and lessens the grief of death. Thanks for sharing. Check out my poems, I'd appreciate it. (Report) Reply

  • Freshman - 896 Points Suburban Lovechild (2/7/2015 10:35:00 PM)

    Great write, I like the abstract spectator view of the departed, humanizes and lessens the grief of death. Thanks for sharing. Check out my poems, I'd appreciate it. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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