It’s the smallness, they say,
in the depths of the clay
in a coffin that’s most terrifying
to a corpse not quite dead
when he comes to his head
and senses his air rarefying.
Your soul he took, your corpse he left It’s all we’ve got to show. We’ll paint your cheeks up rosy red and plant you in a row.
Melissa Watkins Starr holds an M.A. in English from Old Dominion University. A former news reporter, Starr writes poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. Her poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in The Apeiron Review, Modern Haiku, Simply Haiku, Acorn, bottle rockets, Frozen Butterfly, Shamrock, chrysanthemum, and others.