—I’VE NEVER HELD MY BREATH FOR QUITE THIS LONG, SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME, IF I SCREW IT UP

 

 

Don’t Bother Knocking

 

The sun’s 

bloody-black 

eye 

can’t lift 

its lid 

though its 

inconsolable 

rays stutter

over the backyard 

like a eulogy 

given in Morse code

right around 

where the pear 

tree drops 

her over-ripe 

fruit on 

the lawn

like heads 

just clipped 

from the 

guillotine

There’s enough 

for anyone—

deer, homeless 

or ghosts—

to sample 

and digest 

if they’re 

able to avoid 

the worms

though I can’t

which is why 

I plop down 

now on 

the also dead 

grass and 

grab the 

closest pale golden 

gnaw into 

the pulp 

with oblivious 

gluttony 

stunned worm-head 

on my tongue

waiting to 

be swallowed

as I stare 

at the grave 

just two feet 

away that 

mound of dirt 

which means 

everything

that forgotten 

soil quivering 

but mostly

just wanting 

to be held and 

told I love you

one last time