by Laura Hatch
When the day is getting done,
not dark yet but
nearly there, when the end
has crept upon me
like meadow grass
threaded through
the fence line, and the earth
desires to take me,
roots eager to reclaim
these bones, a hungry
affair, thistles and
nettles tangled
in my hair,
when I cross my wrists
over my heart and lay
this body down,
when I slip
my last wisp of breath
and unburden
this blanket of skin,
each hair, each freckle
and knuckle dropping
to the ground,
no need to argue
now,
when I give my body
to the earth without
complaint and when, with
no hands to hold them,
I ask for an armful
of flowers—
yarrow and zinnia,
aster, lupine, columbine—
the morning glory will weave
me together, sepals for
joints, stamens for eyelashes,
blooms like a crown.
In the loam
will I abound.
Laura Hatch is an MFA Candidate at Texas State University, where she teaches Composition. She has been the recipient of the Norman Peterson and Charles Mosely Endowment at Texas State and twice the recipient of the Texas State Graduate College Liberal Arts Scholarship.