The box with L O V E on top

You’ve been inside the box with L O V E

on the top for a month now

because the ground has been too frozen

to bury you properly

and I could not bear to have you turned

to ash and scattered by a stranger

in a field I’ve never seen and will

never visit

for the first week I knew you were gone

but I could lie to myself and peek inside

the box and pretend you were sleeping

I would touch your head,

apologizing for not being better, for

not having deserved you.

Then I left the box in peace awaiting

a sun warm enough to lay you to

rest.

Yesterday I could not help myself. I

wanted to see you, to perform the ritual

of apology and contrition

and when I lifted the lid of the box

with love on it you were there – but

before my hand could touch your

forehead it stopped – some part of my

brain reacting on instinct built into DNA –

seeing what my conscious mind could not

You no longer have eyes.

they are black holes – windows to an

interior that turned my stomach

asking me what I thought happens

to dead, unburied things

but today there is snow and the ground

is cold and I cannot bear to let

a stranger scatter you across a field

I do not know so

I will wait until the sun makes time and

space to bury you.

About the Author

Don Martin is the author of two collections of poetry. His previous work, The Playground, was selected by Barnes & Noble as part of their #BFestBuzz campaign. His latest collection, while I wait to be a god again, came out earlier this year and debuted at #1 on Amazon’s LGBT Poetry list. He lives in the suburbs of Chicago with his husband and their pets. To find him on social media click below.

View