by Joseph Tatum
Skeletons floating down the dirty river, crackling as they
Bang into the gnarled roots and dead-grey stones jutting
out of the crumbling, searching shore line.
When the pre-dawn mist meets the blurs of the outline, the outline of
Where a thing becomes nothing and what lies there
Is the mystery that I want to know –
The in between.
What will I see on my death bed moment? What will I remember?
What will I know that I didn’t know before then? That exact second when my life stops.
Will I see what I have killed? Will I see what I loved in its most perfect form?
Will I see everything I ever knew all at once?
Purple April skies turning black and blue and jumping forward to November, December, and then January all at once.
Stop it time. Will you ever stop?
The pure white puffs of willow tree blossoms in the backyard, summer, 4 years old.
Chasing cats down the back alley way, tripping over dandelion heads.
I saw you then when I was young and then the rainbow curtains part