Today's poem is by Derek Mong
We Live Our Lives through Other People's Bodies
till we' re no more than campfires
our families encircle. Our families thenbeneath the lantern of a saline bag
rehearse their own deaths through us.Meanwhile our pores open inward
under a deluge of morphineand memory is all we have left to eat.
Slowly it grows to enclose us, before sailinglike a whale's belly lightlessly on.
Our organs then, if we gift them to the living,
will rise, piece by piece, on cloaksof dry ice. The small planes that await them
chirr over this city like crickets.See their shadows leap freely, like those
of skimmed stones on the drowned.And the men herepaused at a crosswalk
and listeningcan feel their heelslift as the crowd pushes them on.
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Copyright © 2018 Derek Mong All rights reserved
from The Identity Thief
Saturnalia Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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