by Cynthia Cruz
Death is a beige Mercedes sedan.
I am five and riding
In the back,
Eating small white chocolates,
My long, thin body
Along the butter-
Soft red leather seat.
What I want is to become
What I was
Before the accident.
You think
I'm a rumor.
I move from one world
To the next
Living inside a mink
Lined winter,
God's child-
Like voice
Singing quietly
Inside me.
Copyright ©:
Cynthia Cruz
Last updated April 26, 2023