Closed Crib

In Poetry 101 we were told to write and narrate a poem in the voice of inanimate object, this is my finished product.

 

They placed him inside of me.

Some cried

Others secretly wondered if the dead

Had a smell that would never wash off.

The suit was designer and black.

Its fibers scratched against my inner silken sides.

 

He was young and carried no bruises,

There were no tears in his skin.

Corners of each lip were turned upwards

But this was not the face he wore

The last second he had the chance to breathe,

Someone had molded it to look this way,

Dead skin like putty in someone’s hand.

 

They had shut his eyes because the blueness held

To its terror.

And no one came to see his death

They had come to watch him sleep.

 

And when they closed me over him

They carried us together as if I was

The mother and he the unborn child in my womb,

A voice could be heard, diligently, reciting words.

 

Finally we were lowered

Feet

Upon

Feet

Dark earth all around us.

 

And as we settled to the bottom the jolt

Of my form hitting the ground

Caused his lids to open

And now his blue eyes

Stare up at me.