Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

In The Cold Dark Mud

When I buried him
almost two years ago,
I forgot it was his bones that had stopped moving,
his heart that had ceased to beat,
his eyes that were black as empty nut hulls.
I forgot that I could go on a walk
and listen to the silence.
I forgot the beauty of mornings
and drives in the country.
I forgot the excitement of putting my head out the window
and sucking in the wind
as if it were for the first time.
I forgot the child-like wonderment of smells:
Pinecones and roses.
Honeysuckle and mint.
I forgot how to lie on my back
and let the sun bake warmth in to me.
For two years now,
I have been in that cardboard box with him,
buried alive,
struggling to find my way
in the cold
dark
mud.