Who is Driving ~ A Poem 

for the life of me
I can’t figure out if the person
who’s driving me
is a literal
or figurative
Is she encased in ice?
a mummy?
Or is she alive,
heart beating and loving?
I know that
a dead 
and live woman
reside inside
When I am still 
I can sense
which one is driving

A ride with a cadaver
can be a heady experience
though I’d prefer a ride
with a living me

I’m going to love them both –
these two who
grace my bones
and allow me to 
interpret their secrets
and tell their stories


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