Bed of Soil

Madelene Przybysz

Come find me here upon the ground

With bones, hollow and breaking

With a heart, crying and aching

There is no use for standing.

I am here

and

I am cold.

Gazing up but seeping through the cracks below.

Come find me here,

Half old and decaying

A hole in my ribcage

Where maggots grow

In the soft sweet soil, I make my bed

Returning to the earth

From where I began.

Come find me here upon this land

Where nothing is lost, and nothing will end.

For here I am,

Here I will stay,

If you choose to look for me now,

Come find me here upon the living ground.