I am in bed, beside my mate; this is my last breath.
To my sister (and I know I will be leaving first) I give my poems. Every one. I wrote them all in some effort to grow, to be the ventriliquist and throw myself to other lives. You taught me to want this.
I am writing a Thank You card to my editor; this will be my last submission.
To my cousin I give my smile. You never left that place. You never saw the beautiful woman you ended up becoming. I give you every ounce of cherished my dad let me feel. I give that learned love I saw my parents have. I give you every ounce of my childhood.
I am watching my grandson graduate; he wants to be an architecht.
To Keely, I give my limbs. You know to move with abandon, they will be safe with you.
I am making the last mortgage payment; we can do anything, now, love.
To Francis, I give my wishlists. My post-it notes. My napkin To Dos and the penned reminders on my hand. You knew how to see everything through. You never once forgot to live.
I am graduating college; I am moving on.
To my father, I give my patience. For all your giving hands, for all your curt replies. May the polished parts of this man you became still hold room for silence.
I am starting grade 6; I am all shades of fear.
To my mother, I give my sea-coral heart. We are soaking up our worry; we are spilling all our hope.
I am 3 years old, I am the beginning of memory.
To the city, I give my freckles. I blossomed most when your sun let them out.
I am asleep, here, in the warm dark.
To my love, I give my shame. It is yours to destroy, whatever is left, now. You were the creek I walked across.
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