Kim Malinowski earned her B.A. at West Virginia University and her M.F.A. at American University. She is currently a student of The Writers Studio. She has a forthcoming chapbook Death: A Love Story, from Kind of a Hurricane Press. Her work has appeared in Souvenir and Mad Poets Review, and is forthcoming from War, Literature, and the Arts, and others.
Kim Malinowski
He anoints my feet
with olibanum
thumbs hard.
Three strokes of myrrh
across my breast.
Life. Death. Rebirth.
We fall together in the ancient way
until the stars blur.
Death is coming.
Soon I will massage myrrh into cold skin,
easing wrinkles, shining the skin,
preparing for the gods.
He cups my hand.
A palm to his chest,
feeling the pounding of his heart.
Lips tickling my neck
as we beat back death.
It won’t capture either of us tonight.
In the end, I want no tubes.
I want to glisten with oils
and breathe in the hard scent of myrrh.
Let it sing me down.
I want rose and jasmine too,
honeysuckle, every scent of life,
so that even as I inhale death,
I exhale life.
When it is my turn,
who will keep the old ways?
How will I smell of spicy musk and love?
Will the stars dress me in lace
and whisper me into the skies?