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.