it is bittersweet
fading
the ticking tocks
the clock creaks
digitally toward
the end
vacuum seal me
hang me in the back
of the closet
mothballs
clanging in my pockets
as i wait
to flip the hourglass
on its head
once again

i have been
constantly on the move
making gumbo
cleaning
serving
now the zucchini bread
bakes to a golden brown
the apartment
smells like cinnamon
the kids are
winding down
and i know it is
only scant hours
until i am no more
for two long weeks

it is difficult
not to want to
curl up into a ball
rather than accept
the oncoming demise
to be forced to smile
as the house of cards
burns around me
back to semi existence
a poltergeist
in my own skin
rattling the walls
of a prison
of falling grains