poetry by j matthew waters

poem of the dead

I’ve heard a thousand times
how the monarda
was afraid to die
but always came back to life
next march or april

you tell me I might be
just like the bee balm
practicing the art
of resurrecting
without realizing
what was going on

if I go diving
from the top of the bluff
where below is nothing
but blue sky & oswego tea
will you follow
and repeat after me

june two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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