Where do you want me
To take you,
You, whom I’d been
For so long;
/
You, whom I killed
Without thinking?
You felt so fragile,
And small…
/
Where do you wish me
To bury
All things you cherished
And loved?
/
Where should I
Secretly carry
Your ashes, still thickening,
Clouding my blood?
/
You were courageous
And gentle,
While I am ruthless
And vain;
/
Of us two, you were the truth
And the wisdom –
I merely feed off
Of your name;
/
Where would you choose me
To dig you
The deepest and coldest
Of graves?
/
Make it a place even I
Won’t remember;
Make it so that I forget
You are me
The last line was the surprise in the poem for me…still thinking about this one.
It’s good to hear I can still surprise a reader as familiar with my writing as you are :)!
For me from a tiny wooden bridge , ashes into a quiet stream. With parents.
Is it strange that I want to call your comment beautiful, Carl?
As for the speaker in this poem, she chose to abandon her old self at the foot of Chomolungma, frozen into a clear, icy, empty morning.