KERI L. WITHINGTON
One day, after my heart beats its last
in someone else’s chest and my eyes
close for the last time under
someone else’s lids,
their bones will be wrapped under six
feet of roots and clay,
will be a little mine, too, before
belonging to pines, worms, time.
When the water system washes cells away, and
nitrate rich drops nourish Bokhara, lucern, red clover.
As generations learn anatomy from your bones,
whatever is left of me will swirl with wind
thermals, congeal in rain drops, soak in starshine
to find whatever is left of you, quarks coalescing.
The same oxygen that once tinted our blood red,
let our chests literally expand in love,
drawn in by chlorophyll rich Dracaena, Quaking Aspen, phytoplankton
inhaled and exhaled from a million other lungs.
In this ever-expanding universe with millions of unseen
stars, I find forever.
The Empirics of Nature
I believed in fairies longer
than I believed in God:
lightning bugs, dragonflies, ragweed puffs
all served as proof.
Thought I saw one, once
tiny wings fluttering, flashes of light
mountainside where I still
camp on chilly April nights.
The sun hangs silver in the afternoon
sky there, hijacked by the moon,
only orange haze to betray it. Blue
mountain ridges make sunset sudden.
Invited to the Pack
hypnotic voices beautiful
insubstantial as the moon
light streaming through my bedroom
window twinkling of stars
branch scratched window screens
seductive feeling radiated
mornings warm hungry
whispered primal hour sang sweet
howling during every waking
roads slick shining
relax in chair
purr on skin
kiss of claiming ink
fierce beautiful on back
voices in ears
I have become one.
i sing the body
See Orion stretch
Dipper half hidden
Every scar tells a
story every single
See the 2nd grade chicken pox here
the appendectomy there
screaming into the silence
singing into stardust