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)