poetry
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Tomorrow I Will Bury Her

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She is still beautiful dead.
The blood has collected
Around her head like a halo.
Her eyes tried to run
Faster than her feet so
Now they bulge, lined
In red, the most fatal look
Of surprise I have ever seen.
She is heavy when I lift her,
As though frozen despite
The lack of cold from her hair.
I look at her and wonder why
Bodies bloat when life leaves.
I hold her close and my grief
Reaches every other living thing
On the street where she once ruled.
My knees have trouble holding
The two of us up. My man asks
If I want him to do it and I say NO.
We go to our back yard
Where there is no shovel–
For now we have sticks and
Candle light. We have full moon
Prayers for the spiders to hear and
Blood pouring out of us both.

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