Poem sharing!

susanna's death

when her body was all that they had left of her,
he passed the time counting faces that showed
disapproval, disappointment, sometimes relief.
He put their reactions in labeled boxes, to keep the situation more organized.
some of them said she was probably tired and wanted out,
others thought she was wasteful,
jumping in front of that
train like a wounded bird. They are weary and illiterate gods,
strangers to romance. He sees her body outlined in the sky,
like a holy fixture or an ornament that smells of the sun
and of faraway cities.He feels odd,
like he has swallowed torrents of ill will.
There are seconds when he travels outside himself and sees the both of them,
sitting on the bedraggled couch, watching movies where heroes were always
the only ones lucky enough to die. She says she will sing for him
when he keels over. It was always her, surviving,
flourishing in the arms of southern winds. Maybe because she always
seemed younger then. but he has never heard her speak
of her own mortality, which is something about her that he
has not noticed before. He looks in the mirror
more frequently now and hopes that he'll see her
looking through him. They say the dead visit the disbelieving,
the ill-equipped, the needy.
He waits for her prayers.
He does not hear them.