{ Sandra Beasley: I Don't Fear Death. }

[delga]

I Don’t Fear Death
by Sandra Beasley

But what I’m really picturing
is Omaha: field after field

of sorghum crisp to my touch
and one house on a high hill,

sheets on the line. You tell me
everything ceases, that even

our fingernails give up, but
what I really believe is that

we keep growing: infinite corn,
husk yielding to green husk.

I look back on the miles
connecting me to Earth, think

I’d have never worn those shoes.
I slip them off like anything

borrowed. The clouds are thin
and yellow, smelling of

fireworks and salt. In Omaha,
the town votes me Queen of

Everything. You are the slow
dance, the last ring of smoke:

to be held tight, and then only
this colder air between us.

--

Dear Whoever Recommended Time Traveller's Wife to Me,

Yeah. I'm BAWLING NOW. I hope you're happy.

love, M

P.S. omg, it was fantastic and very much my thing, and thank you. !

Comments

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

Me too, hence the repost. Initially it was the closing lines, but I also love the agricultural/arable metaphor.

Oh, it's lovely. The prose is light, and the text is quite openly fatalistic, but it hit some kinks.

[inflightdata.livejournal.com]

PEOPLE ON MY FLIST KEEP RECOMMENDING THIS BOOK. I suppose I have no choice but to pick up a copy at the library tomorrow.

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

(Hee, your icon is FREAKY.)

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

NO CHOICE. NONE AT ALL.

(There's a subtitle in the book - A Treatise on Longing that I feel is a better title for the text as a whole. There is lots of longing. And waiting. And. YES.)

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

Those pesky daemonica! Always up to new tricks, heh.

I just sent you a message on twitter. It was mostly: "@£$£%$%" just so you know :)