Elegy
       

First you told me:
Let's not cross that bridge till we come to it.

But tumors bloomed in you the way a hawk plucks prey:
without conscience or malice.

Then you said: What to do?
Every way yu turn makka juk yu.

And your body's betrayals grew abundant:
face bloated as a puffer fish, legs dangling like a marionette's.

Then you said: Every day a fishing day,
but is not every day yu ketch fish.

And I asked myself: who, if I could,
would I follow into the world of the dead?

Which was the wrong question.
Whose answer I already knew.

At the time, I believed love meant
I could not not-look. Now,

I am sure of little but death is like an ill-fitted suit
that can be worn longer than we'd imagine.

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Copyright © 2019 Shara McCallum All rights reserved
from Madwoman
Alice James Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission