This poem is for Flor, my aunt, who ended her days in a nursing home out in the middle of the countryside and whom I visited before she died. I remember leaving her as I drove out of the parking lot, I saw her in to the dining room, alone, looking out at me...I will never forget it. 

REINCARNATION

Do not resuscitate me

attempt to bring me back

to these four walls,

the formaldehyde wardrobe

where my cellophane suit

is as good as the day I bought it;

Clery's

four Springs ago.

I reject resuscitation,

to face

the constant window,

the unchanging lawn beyond,

the brazen smiles frozen behind silver

frames long turned tipsy from time.

The runway of corridor congested

with weary shuffles.

Do not attempt to resuscitate me

but witness my free-fall out

of here into the white place.

My new born feet curled

into beginning.

copyright marypwilkinson 2013