Deathbed by Cristina Domiguez

I cut through comforter

mattress and frame to find it

twisted under corkscrew tongues,

cotton mouthed on molted feathers

folded in the bruised knuckle knots

that muffled amorous arrhythmia

I saw the tremor

an egg white quiver

splintered by the slats

in a stoic stare

I found you there

Stiff finger sticks

bundled together

my name

a still born love poem

a too young obituary headline

Wrinkled beyond repair

you are there, lying

We are there,

limb and limb

spine to spine





I drop below the caution tape,

You can’t be dead,

no one can be

pressed in the pages

of an open book

Watching the proteas thaw

I pull the cloud corpse

to the cold curb

and in the morning dew,

will not mourn you

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