These are the last days. They’ve been saying that since I was born. Before then. The end.

I was dipped in a pool, thrown in to wash my sins. Then I sinned some more. Stayed wet,

sometimes holy, sometimes debt, indebted to kisses. Cursed to remember whose laps I sat

on in public, which men I chased. Ashamed to say I stayed a novice at love. Thrilled

to be here, invited to my own wedding, wanting a bride, bearing a child, becoming a wife

in the life I thought I couldn’t survive. Thankful, despite death in ridiculous order.

My father falling off his bed even though he spent years practicing how to just lie down.

He survived us all. Awe struck, my brother’s handsome corpse almost smiles

while wearing my hat. Glad I could give him something, so sorry it had to come to this.

My daughter’s gap-toothed lisp and the embarrassment of kisses, not a shame but a wealthlode,

a number so wild it causes me to blush fire from my face when she kisses so crazily,

fervently, I can’t believe I ever felt so loveless to want to die. Now here I am, dying

as I’ve always been. So loved, despite the terrors I watched and dreamt through.