Friday, June 3, 2011



     susan ambrosino

Do you think that when it all goes up in smoke
You will be one of the few who survive ?
Do you think you're one of the enlightened ones ?
Do you think you will rise from the dead ?
From the ashes ?
Do you think you will be remembered ?
Do you think you will have a gravestone ?
With flowers ?
Descendants coming to look ?
To think of that woman who lived so long ago
And died just like the rest ?
When you are gone
Will it be the same as before ?
When you look away from the forest
Will  it still be there ?
Will it change ?

Your bedside table lamp keeps burning
Beside your night time glass of water
Your library book left open
A bookmark picturing a tree placed
Upon the page
As you lie in bed
With a burned face
Dirty feet
One earring missing
Hungry, thirsty, tired
But too alive to sleep

Just because wild grasses grew in open fields
Weeping willows drank from shallow ponds
Blackbirds sat on fallen branches
Meadow hillocks moved in waves
Silken air breezed over your skin
Old stone walls tumbled softly to the future
Dirt paths led you off
To vast blue sky

You can't sleep
You're too alive.

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