done with me

in truth

she had very likely

been done with me for a while

had waited

to find the right time

to let me go

& we all know now

there is no right time

for the unlover

to tell the lover

this is over

stick a fork in it

we’re done

I don’t recall pleading

tho’ I certainly

felt some bleeding

tears coming on

walked away the pain

& when I

turned to look back

she was gone

all quiet sneaking up

they come to me

in the small hours

all quiet sneaking up

& flying soft tears

at having not been

done

the things they wanted

to be

when they were here

seeking comfort

some sense of their years

left behind

& me to forget

the things they said

the hurt from then

poured into punches

verbal physical

& the surprise is

they are still poor listeners

for concerns other

than their own

but now I find

it is easy to ask them to leave

point them towards the light

they could not find

then or now

burned out

there was a time

my ancestors say to me

late in the day

when the moon is low

the wind is sleeping

the sand ceases to move

of a time

when shut up

was never heard

we would bang our drums

sing until morning

or the singing was done

in this way our hands

reached back all the way

to those gone before

& then came

the time of shut up

we were not to talk

sing of these things

that connected us

to those who no longer

walk the day

& like the fire

before you now

growing colder

this is how they

burned us out

ended our culture

done

Do not buy me a headstone

even of thin granite

some light hand carved stone

instead plant me a tree

somewhere remote

a quiet distant hill

wooded valley grove

place my ashes there

come visit from time to time

see how it has grown

think of me nurturing its roots

& how I would love to see

you enjoying the sun

my work then

is forever

done