Day 6

i didn’t know whether

i believed in souls ’til

i first saw one leaving

just a day or two after

granny placed his hand in mine

so’s she could get some crackers

and answer the phone --

she wouldn’t leave him

’less someone stayed to hold

his hand,

to hold him there.

even a body that never moves anymore

changes

when his breath runs out

like an unresolved chord,

a foreign stillness

on his

paper skin.

plant me under butterfly bushes

when i go.

all the best deaths have

butterflies.

don't say any prayers;

this ain’t no altar call.

tell the stories that make

you feel good

and play living people’s music

and kiss somebody,

and go on home.