I Get Misty

Such a great surprise to become unbodied,
to find myself hovering above my own grave
once my loved ones had wiped their tears
and the diggers had wiped their hands
and all had gone away; such a great surprise
to learn then how much I’d been run

by the belief that I was my body, how many
wounds and acts of ill repute I might have avoided
if I had become aware earlier of my body only
as game piece and vehicle for what I truly was
and not fallen into its urgency and insistence
upon its own mechanical demands. Now
that I am no longer inside the creaky tyranny
of it, now that it is beneath me in the dirt,
only now can I see how free I could have been;

words like “walk” and “run” replaced 
by “float” and “seep” and “hover,”
words like “hunger” and “thirst” set aside,
words like “lust” and “flush” and “blush”
slipping from the vocabulary
of my still-conscious ghost until
all that is left is the mist of me

dampening the headstone at dawn,
darkening the rough granite,
my sodden name a remainder
and reminder
of what I once thought I was,
what I did not understand at all.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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