“Talking to the Dead” by Alissa Sammarco

"Talking to the Dead"

What was it you used to say to me 

             I’m not sure what it is about spring



in the morning over the paper, over coffee? 

              that makes me uneasy. 



What was it you used to say to me 

              Perhaps it’s all the popping of petals 



in the lines around your eyes, around mouth? 

                out of thin brown branches,

	

What was it you used to say to me 

              the mud that won’t let go of your heels 



at night with our heads resting on pillows, 

            the soft unsteady loam where tender grass greens.



the back of our fingers touching. 

              Perhaps it is that autumn has come too soon 



What was it you used to say?

             turning this beginning into an end.

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