Year of writing 101. 11/30

4/11/12



Sometimes I drive 
to the place where I will be buried.
It is a small plot, 
a postage stamp, really. 
But, it does 
have grass, 
green grass. 
Green like a 
sculptures' patina.
Green like a mantis heart. 
Green like a lone bead, 
which settled behind the vent, 
lost from a bracelet.
Green like lost.
Sometimes I'm lost 
and driving 
to the place where I will be buried.


*credit for the first line goes to Linda DelNegro
http://lindadelnegro.blogspot.com/2012/04/skagit-county-line.html