Poem of the Week

After you've gone don't go, don't

After you've come don't come, don't

When you depart, they close your eyes, put your hands together and cry

        don't go, don't go

But when you say open the door, open the door, they say don't come, don't

        come

They glue a paper doll onto a bamboo stick and say don't come, don't come

They throw your clothes into the fire and say don't come, don't come

That's why you're footless

wingless

yet all you do is fly

unable to land

You're visible even when you hide

You know everything even without a brain

You feel so cold

even without a body

That's why this morning the nightgown hiding under the bed

is sobbing quietly to itself

Water collects in your coffin

You've already left the coffin

Your head's imprint on the moon pillow

Your body's imprint on the cloud blanket

So after you've gone don't go, don't

So after you've come don't come, don't