10 December 2009


Do Not Resuscitate.

they asked me if I knew

what it meant and said

that if something happened

– anything –

that I should know what to do.

– nothing.

though we’d been doing it all along

as if we each had been to the hospice.

just watching your hair fall out and

your body eat itself.

and we never even blinked when

the cancer consumed the rest.

we just inhaled when

you could not.

we didn’t know that

it was then you had chosen –

“go for a walk around the neighborhood”

you said.

“the air is so nice today.”

and when we returned

we did not resuscitate you.

I only woke myself because

when your body turned against you

I was falling in love with

a lovesick boy who knows neither

death nor god –

both you are familiar with.

it was your last sunny afternoon

that I finally took a break from him.

– remember?

the afternoon we all sat and

enjoyed the warm sun while you

receded into your weakened mind

your eyes blackened by removal.

and no one wanted to go inside for

we knew we’d never climb or

help you up

those scratchy concrete stairs again.

but instead the sun turned cold like your skin and

we went into your empty

stone house and talked about

Do Not Resuscitate.

a brief moment eclipsed

by reality.

like my day with the boy.

I took in everything about him that

you are not.

using my lips to borrow life from him

we carved a future with no one but

ourselves and eternal sunshine –

only for a pile of dishes to sober

us to the shadowed sun.

we will resuscitate for now while

discovering life and

preventing new ones.

pretending you are not covered

with earth and

coming for me.

so here I am.


touching my breasts.

waiting for you to appear.

waiting for no one to

awaken me.

[while listening to the antlers' hospice album.]