Saturday, July 22, 2017

Embracing Death

By Marion

Cicadas were a singin' in the wild, dry
Summer heat the day Mam
told me the facts o'life.

Baby, she rasped as she blew
out smoke from her Pall Mall
filterless ciggie, Baby, when
Mr. Death comes a struttin' His
shit down that empty,
baked dirt road fer me,
I'm a'gonna
run like a ole bitch dog in heat
right into His open arms.
Me & Mr. Death'll be like the
Willow tree yonder in a 
hurricane, the way she's
one with the wind with
every cell in every
leaf & branch.

Young'uns caint wrap their
heads 'round it, greetin' Death
hopeful-like. Not all can do it.
Yer poor auntie, she fought him
like a Tiger
an He give her up to her own fool self.
Fer three long, bone-weary years she
lay a'bed & rotted away,
real slow-like.
You don't want that...

Listen to yer Mam
and recall this when it's yer time:
when Mr. Death comes,

run straight-on to Him---
like a long lost lover.


1 comment:

Kelly said...

Now, this is a powerful poem!!