Cover my eyes with moss
fill up my ears with dirt
a flower have my heart for breakfast
clover sprig up from my brain
corpse cold as the earth containing ages
buried intellects, past lives, and brilliances
tales, histories, records of teeth,
leftovers with memorial stones
an old boneyard thought
a forgotten black tooth in mud
an inheritance and legacy
oddly comforting so I chase it
me, a forgotten tooth in time
cackling at you from the past
the joke reverse-incarnated
echoing from the hollow grave
covered with meadowlands of memories
each alyssum containing a thought
each petal one bizarre dream of many earth-dreams
an instantaneous blip of imagination
even an old tooth becomes an old tooth until it’s nothing
to have experienced all the days this earth has seen
to have dreamt them all myself
to be the sleeping giant
to go to sleep so you can wake up
to die so you can be born
an endless process of self-sacrifice
no past is wasted
so in darkness I sleep in the earth
a dormant dream in hibernation
a way leading through the gravestone
old childhood terror, monster of youth
shadow spectre of unborn-life stalking behind
sleepy companion through the starry years
secret friend and last comfort
hand floating in the void
the monster that’s an angel
death feeds me my thoughts in life
lips whisper sweet nothings in my ear
my angel demonstrates miracles from clouds of oblivion
I’ll never be alone in death
my shadow waits at the gate
the hinges of which are wings
the doors of which are doors
Dawn Bratton lives in California and writes poetry and short poetic fiction that explores themes of modernity, narratives with the past, the nature of reality, death, and rediscovering meaning through experience. Her poetry has recently appeared in MARY: A Journal of New Writing and Calliope on the Web.