Into the grave, as a rib, into a ribcage —
to which Adam will I lie,
joining, point by point, with the precise cut of a puzzle piece?
Would it not be better to enter the Styx light,
without the weight of body and clothes left behind
on the dark shore of Partings?
Would it not be better to wash with forgetfulness
the burdened souls of those left behind —
husbands, or fathers, or sons?
And to scatter three handfuls of ashes beneath the heavens,
above the water’s smooth surface,
joining elements and states of being?
So that the thought of me
would be only transparent,
and fleeting —
through all generations.
Into the grave, as a rib, into a ribcage to which
© Copyright: Анна Кригер, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125041900707
Свидетельство о публикации №125041900707
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