Dawn Higgs


My thumb traces
The blue interstates
That criss-cross
The back of your hand

Chest rising laboriously
Perspiration soaking
The customarily well-coifed
Silver curls

The last shuddering breath
Followed by whispers and sobbing
Like new mothers
We tenderly dress you in softest pink

I survey the remainder of what was you
Like an empty locust shell
Clinging tightly to a tree
The frozen body with mouth agape
Is not you




Honoring the Source
by Nancy Dunaway