I will not cower
before my own
brokenness.
I will look her in the eye,
I will cup her face,
I will cradle her shuddering body
until she heaves her last breath.
Then, I will tuck her in the grave
clothe her with earth and stone.
Then, I will set a watch
until signs of tender-footed life emerge.
Then, I will wait for morning.
I will weep without restraint.
I will keep the vigil.
I will not abandon the bones,
the flesh becoming
someone else
I will still recognize as
myself.
She only sleeps
until morning comes.
I have seen it before:
seen gravestones
turned to bread,
seen dust of earth
breathed to life.
I am not alone.
They have listened
for the sound of my weeping.
She keeps watch with me.
He keeps watch with me.
I am surrounded
by brooding Spirits
who will not abandon
to darkness
the gold
still trapped
in dust.
In the dark, whispers
nearer than
the salt of my tears
tell me so—
tell me I am not alone,
tell me they are not afraid,
tell me stories until
weary wakefulness wanes
to wonder.
They wait with me
until the sun,
at last,
rises.
Their light lingers,
like lilies cast upon graves
and lilies linger longer
than shadows
of death.
