"Deathbed Meditation" by Mary Geschwindt

In corpse pose I practice feeling the satin lining of my coffin, imagine the gently ruffled rim meeting my stiff skirt. Next month, I’m attending a wedding in a cemetery, and I can’t decide what people don’t like about that. Who wouldn’t want to haunt their own grave and then go dancing? This month, my sister turns a quarter of a century around in her pocket, contemplates saving it for later. By the time I was her age, I’d spent my two cents on stockings that would rip in the same line along my shins. Today, I play dead on a yoga mat, like this will be the moment I’m enlightened by mortality and not like this feeling has been shadowing me since birth. I stretch out the elastic in my veins as if they’re under warranty. Head still, hands crossed over heart, I inhale for a count of eight decades to fog mirrors with the water my body heats to steam each morning. ————————————– Mary Geschwindt called us from New York, NY. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems