by Laura Hatch<\/p>\n
When the day is getting done,
\nnot dark yet but
\nnearly there, when the end
\nhas crept upon me
\nlike meadow grass
\nthreaded through
\nthe fence line, and the earth
\ndesires to take me,
\nroots eager to reclaim
\nthese bones, a hungry
\naffair, thistles and
\nnettles tangled
\nin my hair,<\/p>\n
when I cross my wrists
\nover my heart and lay
\nthis body down,
\nwhen I slip
\nmy last wisp of breath
\nand unburden
\nthis blanket of skin,
\neach hair, each freckle
\nand knuckle dropping
\nto the ground,
\nno need to argue
\nnow,<\/p>\n
when I give my body
\nto the earth without
\ncomplaint and when, with
\nno hands to hold them,
\nI ask for an armful
\nof flowers\u2014
\nyarrow and zinnia,
\naster, lupine, columbine\u2014
\nthe morning glory will weave
\nme together, sepals for
\njoints, stamens for eyelashes,
\nblooms like a crown.
\nIn the loam
\nwill I abound.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n