Removal Day
       

Your hand was always there for the taking,
the request, a tear, fear or basic need.
At six, I cried over what might happen
if you died, the day of our extraction.
The might of imagination, of dread.
Childhood is a voucher redeemable
until the end; and once the ending comes,
let us pray that we can still trade after.

When Charybdis swallows, the port drains out;
the remaining slud3e will forever speak
of history. I'll cling to the fig tree
and imagine you docked nearby, waiting.
You cannot pick me up out from the mud.
I cannot lift you up out of the grave.

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Copyright © 2018 Colin Dardis All rights reserved
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