The Rights of the Dying


I see that everything you’ve done
is gentle. Let me die gently.
Let me breathe a long cotton breath
and be done with it.
Don’t pretend that your interest in survival
is also my (best) interest.
Do you understand, I’m no longer
fascinated by the slant of sunlight
through cheesecloth curtains?
And what is life without fascination?
No. That last breathe will be exquisite.
Nothing so silken has ever moved through me
I have never entered or been entered
with such love. I was a mother
and life was in me. I was a father and
I bled salted life. It is time. There is nothing
so certain under the sun.