55/365: I Obsess

me and books

We're a dying breed,
he and I.
I don't want children,
but I am obsessed with how we will disappear,
how we might become more and more alone
until there is no one to spread our ashes
or choose what happens to our things,
no one to thumb through our boxes together and say
Oh, I remember this,
and so-and-so said that thing,
and we all laughed?

No one might say that
in the intimate way of another
who has held your hand at funerals
and laughed over soup in a winter kitchen,
no one who feels that your things
are also their things.
We will not become suitcases
that gather dust in attics
with people we love moving below.
We will not be collected in closets
to be taken down and handled
when a heart hurts and needs connection.
And in today's low graveyards
built for the ease of riding mowers,
we will not even have headstones
to stand above ourselves and declare
that our feet stood on this earth.

There should be more.
I have things I need to give you,
a humanity to cover those who need it,
a piece of me that must remain.
There should be more.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com

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