Body Bag Poem by Lila Marquez

Underneath her pillow is eternal dark,
the waking hours marking hours pass for rest.
None granted; her body, a shield, a routine -
whimper, work, whip,
whimper, work, whip,
her name is a puppet show.
The prayer sank deep in her luggage, and
for years she had longed for a robin's song
unpacked - none the time to utter.
Madam, yani, her soul got stuck between
your teeth; piece by piece a treat or a banquet;
wrapped in a raw whole foods diet.
Is this a lesson she must wake up to
day by day between blotches of bubble baths
or the filth and the fawning over fetish?
(The answer will not be instagrammed) .
Is it to recompense for the friendly facade
of the hatred and the harsher prose of power?
(Facebook allies find this offensive) .
She could never reimburse till her rest,
she could never reimburse till her rest.
Instead, her kin shall hear whilst smiling
a tale of ipads, toblerones, and smileys
she'd ship safe ashore till her rest.
It will never come, never, come tombs day;
her body limp in a parcel: DELIVERED.

(from 'Line Breaker: A Collection of Poems', Lila Marquez,2021)