Poem 22

It is time to place the body in. We are about to drop in.


The stanger looks at me. He has traveled far in night.


He does not understand me. He starts to pull it to the hole.


I pull back.

Some of the material shreds.

No. No.

When she is in the ground. One day I may forget.

No. No.

If I forget who in the world to care?

In the struggle to place the body a finger snaps. Pieces crack.

No one will care about this body, yet I must give it back.

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