MARY FLANAGAN
Being Transformed into a Phoenix
You had better not fucking die
because I need you to kill me first
yes—plan it bury the body
when it comes to that, but
not today
I get to die first, amidst small murmurs
a tiny creaking door to elsewhere a child’s lips open just
so, rapt with hero’s tales carry me oh jousting steed
oh shaman’s magic smoke oh coffee oh breakfasts
tomorrow
is not here, not yet anyway, I don’t want
to pour out the wine— blanket me
away fold me into you, you who are comfortable and
worn and fearless I get to die first, hear me!
only yesterday
I turned a cha cha cha in the catacombs
pressed close the swarthy roots of trees; they dipped
me so low my hair kissed rotting logs draped along
empty noses the music slowed
today
know my little request, with the sweet end of time
held in my mouth
the heartbeat slows under the skin of the
world cut and changed
forever
