"Plans" (7-Minute Poem For NaPoWriMo)
What plans do the dead make?
They wile away in their silver linings.
They don't speak, even when spoken to.
Who would believe they matter?
They, who are so sorry and sorrowed.
Fortune today, dust tomorrow.
How many furtive longings? How much
their weight in pennies? Their well-made
beds, waiting in the ether. Royalty
or poverty, the results are always the same
ash. Ash in the ice-tray of forgiveness.
Ash in the spiral galaxy of love. Ash in
the core drum. Ash falling down. Ash
becoming a sea after tsunami.
Wet coal in the lump of the heart.
What plans after the wake
and rush, the sudden hush?
Lorna Dee Cervantes