Something to Chew On

If death implies life then get started living
you intone, or at least I think that was you
chanting sagely, though in the pale of morning
I’ve forgotten my dream. Heavy from the mood
of the thing not recalled, I heave from black
to the brittle green-grey of before-dawn, leave
the room of regret for a spell best utilized
wisely because penitence piles up like frail leaves
this month, whirling around thirsty heads, dizzying,
decomposing as it spins. Was it really you whispering
across the bends, reeling an incantation, expecting
me to receive and comprehend? Yeah? Join me, then,
in a cup of black coffee and folding the towels,
ruminating, ruminating what’s already been swallowed.

#18 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans!