Months To Years Spring 2018 Months To Years Spring 2018 - Page 46

End To My Means By Donna O’Shaughnessy I will not lie down in a sterile steel coffin pseudo-satin sticking to my skin   Burlap wrap this carcass tight carry me close, my three sons, my soul daughter, across our hazel acres   Inform the county to change my address on the plat map   Deliver me from boll weevils slide me into a dirt walled vault prop me up sober and intent    I’ll watch carrion beetles march with their back clinging, hitchhiking mites what one does not use the other consumes   Do not cry, but croon alongside the smoky throated Magicicadas at high noon announcing my passing, convening the cootie buffet   Celebrate with the white moths lining the edge of lover Earth like Lilliputian sailors along the decks of a carrier ship​ Donna O’Shaughnessy resides in Central Illinois with her husband and a mad collection of farm critters on a small, sustainable homestead. A retired hospice nurse, she decided to return to college at age 55 and is a recent graduate of the University of Illinois where she was awarded the Senior Quinn Award for Fiction. Winner of The Dermot Healy International Poetry Award in 2016 and highly commended in the iYeats Poetry Competition 2015, her work has also appeared in The Galway Review, Ropes, and After Hours. She is now working on her first poetry collection. 46 Eventually, cover me,  with shovels of moist humus  and blooming fungus   T urn my composting limbs if you dare rake loose my long silver hair leave some strands for the mourning dove to line her nest   Do not fret the coyotes’ discovery of my remains their frenzied bone scattering across not so fruited plains   I am a traveler by nature