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Ear held to Sylvia’s ribcage
I hear her heart beat, lungs breathe.
Like murmuring river, red water,
like whispering spring, warm breeze.

The persimmons will fall from their branches;
the autumn leaves go last.
The blood will wash out of the mattress.
The tiger’s year will pass.

Our hair will turn gray with the seasons
Creases will fold by our eyes.
We’ll set our alarms every evening
Send stickers before our goodbyes.

I’ve woven a quilt with our memories
and bundled us in it tonight.
I’ll listen to Sylvia’s heartbeat
And sleep until morning’s first light.

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