It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.
But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.
A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.
Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a corner
on a walk, and
not even say hello.
When I die, leave my eyes wide open
let them see that I’m dead.
Then burn me,
take my ashes to the Burren
where the wind will tear me apart
and take me farther away.
And my daughters can’t go to my
grave and wonder
Is she alive down there?
Please be alive,
They can breathe me in
Or taste me instead.
when they lick their lips
after swimming in the sea.
And you’ll still be in that box,
waiting to go back to Santa Fe.
[Samantha Lucero does six red seeds.]