I Knew You Twice

Goodnight to the woman I knew twice.

I knew twice – I knew forever

I knew you once from the ghostly white hospital bed sheets,

With wires and tubes reaching for me.

I knew you twice from the dimly lit, tiny windowed room. With the smell of old potpourri and flesh clinging to my clothes. 

I knew you twice but your perfume clings to me, the chair – and the walls. The house.

I was too young – To see.

Now I see.

Your bones belong to Nature.

It is their canvas.

Your eye sockets are now flowery reminders of the pain you once saw.

Of your Son.

Your golden tooth is still there, gleaming like you took a bite from the Sun when you first met Nature.

Your arms are welcoming. Welcoming of all of Nature’s instruments to renew your body.

Tiny and frail bones are adorned with jagged designs.

Art is fleeting but it is also eternal.

Art is something that the bones of death’s past engrave into the ground and the eyes of the living dead.

Especially you.

I say good night I say good morning. Welcome home.

I knew you twice but I knew you forever.

In a tree, in a lotus, in the heavy still air that I have no business breathing.

By Tabatha, 16