Genesis 2: 22 Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

'And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.'

I am not perfect; I never was -
a canonized lie of virgin white.
I am flawed, unworthy of applause,
a ghostly glow that once shined so bright.

My heart is hopeless; my tears a sea.
Dreams are a dandepuff in the wind.
A hollowness grows inside of me
as all good things have come to an end.

The lips I tasted, the warmth I felt,
were cherished promises unfulfilled.
Let fall the kings of Orion's belt
that this forlorn brokenness be stilled.

The hands that held you, that gave you all,
now dig a desperate, deep, deep grave
of past times, our times, our faces fall
like fallen angels that none can save.

My flesh is fading; my bones are tired.
The gift of life is giving no more.
Let fall the roses, the hours expired,
the love of ashes, and weathered door.

I am a woman from head to toe,
a faint flutter between earth and sky.
Lay me in linen; pack me in snow.
Please grant me this last wish when I die.

Inscribe these words since I shall not speak.
They will be my last forevermore:
one last breath against your gentle cheek,
a pair of footsteps along the shore.

These are the words, my heart and my soul,
'I love you more than you'll ever know.
When life succumbs and death takes its toll,
I will be waiting beneath the snow.'