But I got this plot of land
Out in the field
Under the weeping willow,
Figure since I spent
A good piece
Of my life
Under those limbs,
It'd be a good place.
I saw a lot
There, under that tree,
How the sun
Comes and goes.
Thought it'd be a good
Enough place,
Perhaps,
To spend
Eternity

Firey flowers
Burst in the sky
Celebrating independence
On the 4th of July

Booms echo off buildings
Rockets launch sky high
Exploding into colors
Quickly floating by

Awestruck by the beauty
Infatuated with the sound
I love watching fireworks bloom
And its petals fall to the ground

A woman. A knife. A very sharp knife.
She has waited for this hour, this moment
Her eyes – they gleam with passion dark upon
A figure recumbent upon a slab

She is not alone; she is being watched
But no one will dare cry for her to stop
They have all made their agreement, their bond
And now the woman lifts the knife…she strikes…!

She has cut the heart from an artichoke
And the studio audience applauds

I remember that first excitement
Flowing through my heart
Pumping the life within
The baby soon to become
A son or daughter.

And I walk in gathered dress
Blue it was, with broderie anglaise
On a square yoke, falling
To above my knee
The doors slid open
Welcoming me in
The reception of life.

Recalling simply kindness,
A resplendent building,
Efficiency.
Open that year, 1970,
All ready for me.
And she was born there
Named after a ward
Katharine Maria
Seven pounds and eight ounces,
Dark hair and eyes,
And I felt loved.

Today, forty seven years on
And where love flourished
Weeds grow
Along the corridors
Of power, the *****
Toilets, empty beds,
No one wants to be
Here anymore.

We all left for home births
Our husbands and families.
Was the decline our fault?
Did our selfish desires
Perpetuate indifference?
I stood and cried
Watching the perfection
Of an idea wash away.

Love Mary x

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.