Agnes Kelley, 51, Died of Pneumonia, 1906
I am long dead to you
Bones make sounds,
rattle under rock
This is my rock
And I talk
We are long dead
The ones who whisper
The ones who
Wander in a
Country shed
Batting at rakes
And plates
And sparrows
Squaking
This breath is talking
And you are listening
And we made it here
Through the great beyond
I laugh to think what you call it
It was a journey
I do not recall
What it took
Where it was
The time
If time exists
But we took it
To come here
And thought there
Was a hole somewhere in it
Up to heaven
I haven’t been canceled
Or put out
I am here
As real as relish
Not dead
No, not like they say
Not dead with a foot of rot
And a soul singing to God
I am here in a burned out charnel house
In the cavity of a lamb
In the crack of a sidewalk
Creeping like a spider
Shifting like a snake
I am darkness now
And the sun does not warm
A cold steel drum
Beats out
The long life
Of my death
-Nina Alvarez
Poem of the Month 
Leave a Reply