Why not give it to me now,
my death certificate? Why wait
until my heart is silenced,
until my body tumbles
over the cliff of consciousness?
Wait, don’t leave.
I haven’t eaten in days.
bed-bound,
My son and daughter
used to bring me food.
Stop, I told them.
You’re pulling bread
from your childrens’ mouths.
It’s nighttime, my best time.
The moon is full
and the stars dance
in a web of luna celebrations.
Tonight, heat
beats through the room,
greases the bedrail,
and darkens the sheets.
I pull up my shirt for relief
and watch my ribs
glisten in the moonlight,
rising into their own constellation.
The sound of my body shutting down
is deafening.
Still, I discover
a small repository of strength.
I extend my hand to you.
Please, give me what you can.