Through The Gates

There's an angel in the graveyard,
Amongst the ordered stone crosses,
Her head to one side,
As if questioning her presence.
Even in death, there seems to be
A difference.

© Miakoda 2004

On This Night

I am not one to talk with the living,
but it seems this night will be different.
I must move myself to return tonight,
and walk on this soil once more.

Last Eve I watched with the rest.
How strange to see all from this other side;
I gaze at the fires that burn,
and the heads that turn towards me.

When my flesh became the earth where now I stand;
The last visitor to my grave turned away,
I lay back in the warmth of my mothers' home,
and slept until All Hallow's Eve.

© Miakoda 2004

The Thickening

She first noticed the thickening of her skin when
her small evening dress was not quite, didn't quite,
let her breathe. And her tight pants, which he said
were breathtaking, just wouldn't, quite hold.

She bought larger clothes to adorn her skin.
They disguised the thickening, and he didn't notice.
So that was better. But she knew, and that,
for her, was something sickening.

She lived within those extra sheets for a while
and her breathing became slower and easier
and soon, so soon, she felt one fresh release
with a slow exhale towards life.

So she lived for a sentence like this.
With him following and not looking
and when the pain hit and the new hunger struck,
she left.

Life is comfortable and warm now.
But the thickening is spreading fast again,
too quickly for her mind to comprehend.
It is outside but she suspects inside also
and the reason, this time, is meaningless.

© Miakoda 2005