Every decade or so
she resurrects her dead
journals, poems, books
shelved with her old self.
She reads or listens to recordings
of poets reciting their works;
Plath, Cohen, RPDickey, JDickey.
Lowers herself down
through envy settling into fear
where she learned to breathe
accustomed to the trembling
while putting herself on.
The bag of skin
she’s in is often
stretched and torn.
While other parts.
are inside out.
When she dies,
if they're lucky,
her complete works,
comprised of all 8 1/2 poems,
will finally be free
of her postmortems
and her desire
for a perfect fit.
