What I'm telling you [excerpt]

Shara McCallum - 1972-
Reincarnation, life everlasting--
call it whatever you will--

it will not change
the facts: we are ashes of stellar death.

And, in the end, wishing on shooting stars
is like pinning your hopes

on the last sound of the whistle
trailing off, last chord of the train

sparking on the tracks
then fading into the dark.

More by Shara McCallum

Miss Sally on Love

In my time, I was a girl who like to spree.
The whole world would open fi mi

if I shift mi hips to strain
the fabric of mi skirt, just so.

Still, I did learn mi lesson
where love concern: if snake bite yu,

when yu see even lizard, crawling
with him belly on ground, yu run.

Now the gal come to mi, say she fall in love
with man who have a plan fi change.

But she nuh notice him also carry gun?
And, lawd, how she nuh see

who running the show and who
keeping house same way?

No Ruined Stone

When the dead return 
they will come to you in dream 
and in waking, will be the bird 
knocking, knocking against glass, seeking 
a way in, will masquerade 
as the wind, its voice made audible 
by the tongues of leaves, greedily 
lapping, as the waves’ self-made fugue 
is a turning and returning, the dead 
will not then nor ever again 
desert you, their unrest 
will be the coat cloaking you, 
the farther you journey 
from them the more 
that distance will maw in you, 
time and place gulching 
when the dead return to demand 
accounting, wanting 
and wanting and wanting
 everything you have to give and nothing 
will quench or unhunger them 
as they take all you make as offering. 
Then tell you to begin again.