Pain turns a body insideout. Places so deep
you have no business hours for them,
have no business even knowing them–cry.
The heart of the matter, bowels of the earth
force you to notice their something wrong.
Sinkholes developing. Or seismic shifts.
Sometimes it is a night ache on AM radio,
whispery under all the static. If you listen
long enough, it will tell you where it is.
Sometimes it is an air raid siren. You
thought those were relics, and out
of commission, but Warning Warning!
There are publications. How to tell a heart
attack from a taco. Bird identification
category: Confusing Fall Warblers.
Sunburn exclaims your skin. A jaggedly-
torn fingernail is a small kid, sobbing,
and desperate for protection: Kiss me.
When you are old, you and your ligaments
are on a first-name basis. Leaning
over the fence to repeat the weather report.
We arrive like willow picnic hampers,
everything one could need, stowed away
with such ingenuity. Life gets messy.
To die is to cease to know about paper
cuts, pizza cheese burn, the sharp knock
of forgetting the cabinet door was open.