Four Miles from the Center of Town
You will find the body
at the far side of the field
past the sagging rocks
beyond the milk thistle weeds
and the crippled crows
you will need a dog
–who only responds
to sign language
you will need to search
only in fall
when the dusk
smothers the trees
you will need a rope
so you can tie yourself
to a large boulder
when the
soil caves in
you will need a small camera
so you can remember yourself
standing there in
the smoldering light
you will find
the sallow, bent body
the smaller self
you
the barely thirteen-year-old
body
a girl lying lifeless
pretending no one will find her
learning to live
in the shallow grave of silence
*
Prime Meridian
Step upon the earth
as if it is melting
fold the continents
as if the borders
were already singed
at the edges
hold a container
and let all of the oceans run
inside of it
drink the salt
until it is all that’s left of us
succumb to the talons
of the last orphaned eagle
let it pull you up by your shirt collar
and sail you across
the life you were supposed to have
look down
and watch the glaciers fall
the oceans rise
the inlets of every river
drown inside themselves
listen for
the sound of your own voice
falling backwards
listen for the sound
of the ocean turning itself under
as if the earth were a womb
and you the child
passing through
*
How to Sort the Living from the Dead
Forgot all the nonsense
about eyes opened or closed
or breathing
or brain waves
Ignore the sallow skin
the pulse
or even the way
they stare back at you
find the place
where the hands
are swollen with regret
find the place where
silence is the chest bone
find the dental imprints
of a life not eaten
find the eulogy
that is transfixed
in your dust bound bones
find the small minutes
where each of us
wander through
a fractured room
remember how to
immerse your amnesia
in embalming fluid
teach yourself
how to leave a body
and then
how to return
(Author photo by Farah Sosa)