Why I love Christie Maurer
Reasons for loving Christie Maurer:
Your Will
Since you thought it a waste
to buy a velvet-lined coffin,
cherry-wood polished for decay,
a pillowed tomb where you and maggots
would sleep blanketed by foul air,
we got out the grill,
black basin lined with heated coals-
a new type of sanctuary.
Eddie dragged you by the ankles
across the patio, I helped,
taking hold of your wrists,
skin delicate as a babies' grip.
Your head bobbed like a newborn's,
neither of us could stop laughing.
We put you on the grass.
Lisha took away the gasoline from Chuck,
who kept the fire bursting into tepees,
saying, "Save some for her".
Eddie started the busy work
with the electric saw you bought
him for Christmas.
I rounded up the grandchildren
from inside to watch the grass
soak in its new water.
Blood ran down the patio's cobblestone
in little rivers, ants gathered to feast.
The kids circled Eddie
as he cut off your limbs, the saw got stuck
only once in the left shoulder socket.
Their eyes lit with each slice, they breathed
in the bone-dust, swallowed to taste something new.
We each grabbed a piece, threw it into the grill
like barbeque. Our hands covered in you.
"Ok, now", said Lisha, handing the cannister to Chuck
who poured it till the top trees were singed.
We held hands, cells and gore between each finger,
watched you rise as black smoke,
sift between tree branches--
the smell of burnt human flesh
filled our lungs- you were never more present.
Mother, we kept your wishes.
I went to an art school where most people wrote about daisies popping out of fields and trees. I love christie.
Your Will
Since you thought it a waste
to buy a velvet-lined coffin,
cherry-wood polished for decay,
a pillowed tomb where you and maggots
would sleep blanketed by foul air,
we got out the grill,
black basin lined with heated coals-
a new type of sanctuary.
Eddie dragged you by the ankles
across the patio, I helped,
taking hold of your wrists,
skin delicate as a babies' grip.
Your head bobbed like a newborn's,
neither of us could stop laughing.
We put you on the grass.
Lisha took away the gasoline from Chuck,
who kept the fire bursting into tepees,
saying, "Save some for her".
Eddie started the busy work
with the electric saw you bought
him for Christmas.
I rounded up the grandchildren
from inside to watch the grass
soak in its new water.
Blood ran down the patio's cobblestone
in little rivers, ants gathered to feast.
The kids circled Eddie
as he cut off your limbs, the saw got stuck
only once in the left shoulder socket.
Their eyes lit with each slice, they breathed
in the bone-dust, swallowed to taste something new.
We each grabbed a piece, threw it into the grill
like barbeque. Our hands covered in you.
"Ok, now", said Lisha, handing the cannister to Chuck
who poured it till the top trees were singed.
We held hands, cells and gore between each finger,
watched you rise as black smoke,
sift between tree branches--
the smell of burnt human flesh
filled our lungs- you were never more present.
Mother, we kept your wishes.
I went to an art school where most people wrote about daisies popping out of fields and trees. I love christie.