“if it were me i think
i’d like to be
symbolic
as i’m jettisoned away
and have the fire arrows
rain heroics
on my small canoe”
-
to start to be forgotten
as she’d lived,
an upstream paddler
who took rapidity
of life
as given.
this was dangerous
to speak of on a sunday
in an undemanding room
off main street,
long before the noon
that neither of us
knew the meaning of.
exchanging vows
of stewardship
in the event that-
should the worst-
as casually as travel plans,
irreverent with
our as yet untested
sense of
immortality.
so if i find myself
in time
consulting blueprints
for a nordic pyre ship,
and brushing up
on archery,
and next to me
another man is fashioning
a scatter box
and him, a cryo-tube,
and him-
i’ll try to be
accommodating.
all of us
at one point or another
sign
unspoken pacts
on quiet sundays.
Original Photo Manipulation
of a publicly available Image
This poem is a submission to the Writers' Block Poetry Contest - Week 6. Thank you to @thewritersblock for hosting such a great competition each week, and all the sponsors that make it possible. I'm constantly amazed by how many great opportunities the community on steemit provides to new writers to help them gain exposure. One day, I hope, I will be able to return the favour!
Thanks for reading.