Marni Asplund-Campbell, editor
One More Long Poem
[p.176] You will imagine and imagine my face
and how its transience is now stilled.
You will see me to my box and have me covered
I will be in my box and not in my box;
you will speak to me and not know if I hear.
As I do not now know but only imagine the fleeting brush
of ancestor’s arm or the watchfulness of him,
you also will wish to be
but not know if you are watched.
That I will be in dirt and you will be
in air—we do not know if I am happy. We do not know
which visitors I receive. Take some comfort
in hoping that I have received Poe, or he me. Hope
that I am preparing to meet you again—know
that I will lift in time to carry you.
Take these words like they are my flesh
carved out and bled for you as I have always.
you are my flesh remember me