You might be surprised by what people read
at the kitchen table
in the evening
with dinner to the side

As for where to die?  
At the kitchen table
like my neighbor Betty—

slumped over her newspaper
arms above her white and lonely head.

I am no longer your light,
the solace to your empty cosmic prison.
I refuse to accept the pain you weigh on my chest.
I am a formidable fortress, welcoming none
of your darkness.

I am a universe, expanding

with each breath I take.
soon, I will be too far from you to see
the dark matter plaguing your infinite cavity.

your pain can no longer affect
my growth into the unknown,
for I am no longer afraid of the dark.

as a scarlet letter
big and bright
on my low-cut sweater.

I wear the pain
as a banana peel
skidding across
the street
in stiletto heels.

I wear the pain
as a lumberjack
wielding a long-
winded ax.

I wear the pain
as a blinding torch
scorching the ground
I walk around.