Statuesque

The thunder drop of bottom rung

The bell of the dirt piled spread over a coffin

The wrapping illusion of wooden capsule preserving a body

As if the worms will not find the crevices

The light fading into a gasp of departure

From down-lookers losing a placeholder

In a novel knowing their name is coming

Reading verses and dust riding wind to land lips

The starkness of immediacy whirls the crowd

For finger sandwiches and deeds recollected

Heirlooms and would have done stamps awarded

Daddy holding her two-wheeler at six

Rape at sixteen or was it standard teeter-totter

Arrest and driving sloshed, courses imbibed and forgotten

Algebraic unknowns proved in puffed cosmetics

Friends that revel bastions of femininity

Spin the cranium throbbing flash forward past present

What the body will never create flushed in options

Dissipated raw like a hurricane churning a garden

Abruptly, wanting to crawl down into that dirt

Cuddle with the absence of culpability to perform

Be immaculate in vapid opportunity

Let the crossed hands pray in perpetuity

For what a body does when called a corpse

Compared with the lake of treading breathing demands

Hungering to sink and be statuesque