a poem by Anna Renee

it is mid-afternoon, and we are exhausted—
you from driving, me from
refereeing in the back of the minivan

“i’ll follow you into the dark” by
death cab for cutie plays
while we’re almost to our airbnb in
delaware, and it makes me ponder
what dying will be like—
whether holding your hand or
reaching upwards for it?
who will go first, and
how far behind will the other be?

i remember watching paradise, when
billy dies from a poisoned beer bottle—
how his death is glamorized, then
passed over, the viewer
processes, then continues

we must know that real life is
different, that when we take our last breath
there is no camera, there is no
onward for the viewer themselves
but rather a sudden, black, stop—

without us, you, me.

will meeting you again
be like diving deep into
the turquoise ocean, swimming
upwards towards the sun, waiting,
waiting, to break surface?
the warmth of the water
hugging every inch of skin,
following the light home while
still laughing at the last
joke you told me?

when i take a new breath,
will it really be you
resuscitating me whole?