And I Will Die–NaPoWriMo #3

Sun & Clouds. Portland, Oregon.
Image via Wikipedia

On that morning
     birds will shatter stillness
     chant their purty, purty, purty
     languish in the heady scent of citrus blooms

On that morning
     light will slip through gauzy curtains while
     dust motes dance, abandoned to
     the whisperings of April’s breath

On that morning
     clouds will roll in like frothy waves
     stretch to lick the azure sky
     dissolve into fragments of remembrance

On that morning
     alone in the first kiss of dawn
     I will die
     and live again.

Written for the third day’s challenge at NaPoWriMo:

And they gave us this one: Here’s a third prompt for those of you who like to get ahead of the curve. This one is adapted from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones, a book my parents gave me when I was 14 or so and they noticed I was constantly scribbling things down. So here goes: Cesar Vallejo wrote a pretty famous poem that begins with him saying that he will die in Paris, in the rain, on a Thursday (different translations from the Spanish make it hard to quote precisely in English). So go ahead and write a poem predicting your own death — at night in Omaha at the Shell Station, in an underwater Mexican grotto after a dry spell. It’s less morbid than you think!

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday: