I am tired of all this dying,
Vassili’s sister, Alexi,
Diana’s mother, your mother,
Jonathan, Niki’s husband, my father,
the fire, my body, the day,
autumn leaves now dust
on wax paper, our blender
packed up for no reason,
the CD player, full,
announcing “no disc, ”
Rosie lying flat in a cage, an IV
in her shaved leg, a man
tenderly killing his wife,
then himself, in full dress uniform,
you found dead in my mouth
My body has emptied,
drained of whatever made
it run before the dying started.
Fingertips press my leaking bones,
I walk dreamless in dust,
eat used food. Even the snow
kills, frozen bougainvillea, iced roses,
broken brown stalks once green
where I was pleased to walk.
The cherry tree gone, the lemon tree
cut down, the mimosa scrawny.
Let’s just get on with it,
take the shovel to the red earth,
dig in the memories, the hearts,
the sweet sweet bodies of lovers,
children, and small white dogs.