“Now I lay me down to sleep […]”
If you should die before you wake,
what would you name your greatest lesson-learned?
What form would it take: animal, vegetable, mineral?
Where will you have left it?
Did you shove it in the back of your sock drawer?
Lock it in the shed in the backyard?
Arrange it in a vase on the living room coffee table?
Or has it been wandering the house on its own
all this time, where you’ve tended to meet it
unexpectedly? (And how did that make you feel?)
Who would find it when you’ve gone?
Where, and when and how?
What language would it speak to them?
Would they understand?
Is this what you want?
When you roll onto your right side
and tuck your knees into a fetal position
where do you feel the heaviness?
What would you do well to leave behind –
which tethers are no longer necessary
as you begin again?