Unearthed
Linda Hindman I do not like to think of my friend Boxed up Closed underground No room to stretch Or roll over. What if we are wrong About the spirit Having left And should wonder Before pushing someone under? Do they writhe trapped Like the cocooned pupas of sphinx moths And bag worms hanging in the stinking cedar? Raise my body Over feathered poles And send me up in ashes flying Arms wide as sky. |