I fall asleep beneath the jasmine arbor;
this is how I hope death will be—
dregs of red wine at my feet—
a humming bird perches on the Crocosmia,
calling and calling in shrill clarion;
another challenges and they duel,
the susurration of leaves applauding swoop and dive.
Stirred by the thrum of wings,
my soul returns to sweaty flesh,
to the chirrups of these bellicose Charons,
preventing my premature crossing over.
About the Author
Devon Balwit is a teacher/poet living in Portland, OR. She has four chapbooks—How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press), Forms Most Marvelous (forthcoming with dancing girl press), In Front of the Elements, and Where You Were Going Never Was (both forthcoming with Grey Borders Books). Her recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in: The Non-Binary Review; Glass: A Journal of Poetry; The Cincinnati Review; Tap Magazine; The Almagre Review; The Stillwater Review; The Tule Review; Red Earth Review; Front Porch; and Concis.