15 May Returned, by Kaiya Mongrain
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
As my skin pulls apart,
the soft tissues of my nose collapsing,
the banquet blooms within my ribbed cathedral,
The grubs and fungi break open casks,
viscid blood settling at the bottom of my cellars.
They toast with elation to my life,
give thanks for their meal,
and devour me in the way that all living things are.
All is returned.
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
When the bugs descend upon the table,
merry in their festivities, they scour their feast.
Still bright with hunger,
they scale the column of my spine,
craving the marrow’s crown.
They tap, they tick,
they tunnel through the shell of my skull—
slipping into the silken dark for dessert.
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
They sift through the soft chambers.
They take it all—
the sour, the tender, the ash, the flesh—
and fold it into themselves.
In their celebration, nothing is wasted.
All is returned.
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
But, when they reach where you dwell,
the chamber falls quiet.
The sweetness of you, honey caught
on silver forks and glistening mandibles.
Among the compliant matter of thought and awe,
they find only this—I lived to love you.
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
They pass an overflowing goblet, leg to leg,
singing of the fire that lit my chest when you spoke.
When my banquet ends,
the dream of you soaked into their every vein;
when at last they move on,
they roll across the roots and ribs of others,
forever tasting, forever seeking,
what only you could make of me.
All is returned.
(pu-pum—pu-pum)
Only when the marrow is gone,
and my bones gleam clean,
all is returned, as it must be.
I do not fear the banquet—
for what they have carried,
I have carried too.
Despite the hollowing,
it is still me, it is still you.
And in that hollowing,
I’ll be with you again.