I'd like to find a snowdrift,
Lay myself down and dream
About days of ice cold silence
Not be here to hear you
Talk of dead babies, about me
Not really being your daughter,
But someone else's mistake.
I'd like to let the snow become my lover
Hold me in silence, not pretend anymore
That it's kind to watch you die
In your own home, as you wish
With me as slave, even though you
Believe this is really the hospital
And I'm that bitch of a nurse
who won't give you chocolate.
So here I am with all your junk
All this junk you made me dust
And clean and wash. I'm building
A funeral pyre of all this stuff
Thirty garbage bags of clothes
And shoes, some never worn
Did you have that many selves?
All these pictures, letters, documents
Genealogies of death.
You had your life, and most of mine
If I had the nerve I'd torch the house
Those twenty years for love,
I'd do them again.
Everything comes back three times
Tomorrow I'm heading north.
© 2001 J.L.Stanley