Dying wishes


Here my spine is broken.
Here it is curved
backward, sideways
into the body’s darkness.
Bones don’t cooperate.

I tell you this so
you won’t be disappointed
when your skin grows tired.
Look. There is your fallen hair
gleaming almost gray
in the sun.

Tomorrow when your feet
also lose their prints, dust
will settle behind you:
the ground bones
of the earth.

Don’t cooperate.
Step hard, my son.
While you live, make
mountains of your wishes.
Carve your path deeply
onto the spine of the world.

© 2006 Christine Klocek-Lim