Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Lying underground,
blond hair on white pillow,
fingernails and hair
still growing after death,
I awaken in my coffin,
gasping for air,
clawing through silk,
through wood,
through dirt,
summoned back
by your heartbreak.
But you, so selfish
in your sadness,
forgot where I lay
when you called me back,
and assumed my time away
was filled with sorrow.
The urn is smooth and silky
in my hands. The way
beneath my feet, craggy.
A stumble
launches her remains
into the wind,
joining with the mist
to hide my sorrow.
You share her face. I can’t
bear to look upon it.
Tiny creatures gather
for an impromptu memoriam
as I harvest pieces of her
from the garden.
Scant nourishment
for the starving.