April 8, 2009: I Don’t Fear Death, Sandra Beasley
I Don’t Fear Death
Sandra Beasley
But what I’m really picturing
is Omaha: field after field
of sorghum crisp to my touch
and one house on a high hill,
sheets on the line. You tell me
everything ceases, that even
our fingernails give up, but
what I really believe is that
we keep growing: infinite corn,
husk yielding to green husk.
I look back on the miles
connecting me to Earth, think
I’d have never worn those shoes.
I slip them off like anything
borrowed. The clouds are thin
and yellow, smelling of
fireworks and salt. In Omaha,
the town votes me Queen of
Everything. You are the slow
dance, the last ring of smoke:
to be held tight, and then only
this colder air between us.
A year ago today: The Dover Bitch, Anthony Hecht
Two years ago: Death Comes To Me Again, A Girl, Dorianne Laux
Three years ago: Up Jumped Spring, Al Young
Four years ago: Old Women in Eliot Poems, David Wright
