When I am dead, I will be nothing
but
the dry leaf crunch of stepped on
ideas,
a fading memory
like the last glow of blue fire on a
match.
Then eternity will move in next door,
every day bringing another glass of
dandelion wine,
with a voice like crushed velvet.
When I am dead, I will long for the
sound
of dry leaves,
and the warmth of pretty words whispered
from a lover.
Or the last indigo smear in
God's sunset painting.
When I am dead, I will spend
eternity
squished between the dirty pages of
a photo album.
ČTEŠ
So I Don't Unravel: Poetry
PoezieJennifer White's poetry focuses on her own experiences as a wife and mother in rural Idaho. She broaches the topics of relationships, death, and her reflections on life.
