When You Die
I will stretch your body out on the ground
wash the umber dust from your sun-
sprinkle flower petals on your arms and legs
wait for the birds to come.
after the vultures have stripped the flesh from your bones
and the coyotes have gnawed the long ends clean
I will wash their breath from what is left
gather you up in my arms.
you will always be with me, long bones, round skull
my dreams filling the gaps with your warm smile
strong hands.
My love.
The Poetry of Holly Day
Author’s Bio
Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can read more about her at her website http://hollydayonwriting.blogspot.com/.
© 2009 eMuse-
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Insectile
it's easy to see how early agricultural man
could believe that an entire human being could curl
inside a single sperm cell. after all
trees come from acorns and helicopter seeds
great stalks of corn are grown from singe kernels
morning glory seeds put out roots even when they're not covered in dirt.
it's not too far a cognitive leap
to imagine a tiny child, arms folded around his knees
pressed into his own seed
face upturned expectantly, waiting to be planted
to sprout. a cosmonaut, waiting to be launched forth
where he can blossom into sunlight from his mother's
dark womb.
Violets
the invitation arrives in the mail
I write "deceased" on the envelope, try to send it back
but the mailman tells me I can't do that
I'm obviously alive
the phone rings and she
wants to know if I'm coming, I try
to disguise my voice, say
"she doesn't live here anymore"
but she tells me she knows it's me
I'm still such a joker
the day comes closer and closer
a big red circle on the calendar
I watch my hands pick out my clothes
shoes that match, my best purse
I plan the things I need to say
to make the day go away.
Insomnia
I wake up in the middle of the night
hear the house settling, the ceiling creaking
realize I have no bottled water
canned food, flashlight, rifle or bullets
stored in the hidden room off of my office
my children can't live on
holiday decorations or bagged, off-
if the war comes
if the monsters come
if civilization slows to a standstill before
crumbling to dust
I think of my hands catching rabbits
and wonder if I could really
gut and skin a squirrel
if I could master the skills
of building fired and making traps
as my ancestors did
35.000 years ago
my husband snorts in irritation beside me
coming out of sleep as I twitch
in despair of our future helplessness
with my need to rush out of bed to fill empty milk jugs
with tap water, break coffee cups and plates to make
arrowheads and spears