America Mix-Tape, Track 60
       

Some day I'll die in St. Augustine,
under a palm tree growing right
up the middle of a live oak. Nature
has never been my nature, though
I know a robin's cry, a wren.
I keep a glass of sea oats by my bed.
Nobody knows whether Ponce de Leon
named the state for the Easter season
or flowers he saw as he approached the shore.
It is a pretty name, though, isn't it? Florida.
Those will be the waters that calm and claim
my wrestling, wrestled pulse. So many sunsets
watched, so many books strewn with sand.
My life is reading by a window. Strange
that some rooms are like cages. I am brushing
the walls, I am looking for a lighter coat.

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Copyright © 2014 Jason Myers All rights reserved
from New Orleans Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission