Time To Die, Time To Live

Time To Die, Time To Live

You are in and out of consciousness,

and my bladder is a hot balloon,

but I don’t want to move, because

the moment I do, the moment I’m locking myself

into the room where there are instructions

on how to wash between my fingers

you’ll go, that strong, solid heart will give up

and you’ll be getting cold

when I come back with wet hands.


I know that when you’re gone

they’ll need the precious pieces of your body

quickly and I won’t be able to hang back,

and wrap myself around your chest

and kiss your chin, cheeks and lips.


It’s the time of year when the kids are out late,

and the mornings are hot. The evening sun

warms this sterile room we’re been curled in for days.


I should  think about what I need  to do

when I get home, make a list,

prepare for the funeral, buy milk, bread, butter.


despite fear lassoing my courage,

my appetite  for life is strong.

You’ve pinned an adventurous spirit

to the pivotal points of my body,

and I thank you for it.


Before you lapsed into silence, you said

I’d need to come straight back from the cliff edge,

and live, live like I have all the doors in the world to walk through,

and all the brightness I could hope for.