By Amanda
For a moment, every Sunday, the moon and I are one.
I am not bogged down to earth.
Imprisoned here, in a cage of bone and sinew.
I am free.
To float among the celestials.
Where my heavenly body becomes host to more than parasites.
To yawn myself free of my flesh.
Shrug it off my shoulders after a long day.
It would roll down my spine, and pool at my feet.
Then be hung up to air out like it was made of goose down.
It is taxing to be alive.
But I pay Caesar his due everyday.
I hope this expense is marked down each birthday.
To be offset against the cost of my sins.
A growing score that will one day be read aloud.
One day, but not today.
Today, I am gazing out the window.
Hopeful, that the sound of trumpets will call me on a day I remembered to clean the kitchen.
Let my last breath be a prayer of thanksgiving.
May the love I gave be the only trace of me in this world.
May my body give back all that it has taken.
When I am no longer here; let me be never truly gone.
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