Rachel McKibbens - Professional Knife Thrower

The Hundred Year Lovers

When she asked, "Where will you go on the day that I die?"
he drew a big empty house in a tree on a hill.
She said, "Draw me the things I must never forget,"
so he drew both of his hands, asleep in a jewelry box

in the big empty house in a tree on a hill.
She said, "Draw something of mine you know you will miss"
so he drew both of his hands asleep in a jewelry box
cupping her heart with a key in its throat.

When she said, "Draw something else you know you will miss"
he drew her shimmering brain, perched on a pedestal
cupping his heart with a key in its throat.
She said, "Draw what I'll look like in fifty-six years,"

so he drew her shimmering brain, perched on a pedestal
deep in a cloud of grandfather clocks.
When she said, "Draw what I'll look like in sixty-five years"
he drew her in their bed, coughing up paper orchids

deep in a cloud of grandfather clocks.
She said, "This is the thing you must never forget--
me in our bed, coughing up paper orchids
telling you where to go on the day that I die."