when i am gone
i will miss the body,
its aching and its cramps
shoulder blade clicking
warm fat resting on my hipbones,
smoothing out over my thighs.
i will miss this,
the struggle of a breath,
the sound of walking,
organs desperately fighting for life.

when i am gone
i will miss the
smell of the morning,
of the rain,
the feel of page against palm,
fingers dancing delicately over ink.
i will miss hugging,
pressing bodies close
to remind bones of what it is to
be together, to be born again.

when i am gone
i will miss the
feel of cool glass and metal
against my skin
my eyes will yearn for the sight it used to take
so easily
to see the storm clouds roll in from the horizon
and the lights flicker on in the
dusk-dim apartment complex.

when i am gone
i will miss singing,
offkey notes on
green stricken afternoons
and shimmery dusty dawn-lit moon nights:
voices are born to make art, make music,
make noise,
i will miss holding my mothers hand,
rough and cool,
speckled brown with years of loving me,
will miss when my dna
did not forget
what it is to be loyal
to itself