By the time I was five years old
I thought I already knew what it was like to die.
You could say this was my earliest memory
as a singular being.
Falling through the cracks of the room
and into an endless and polished white space.
There was something I had to do.
Something I could not do.
An impossible task.
Death was coming because I was unable to do this
in that small window of time.
There was nothing I could do but wait.
I was afraid.
It was my time.
Then the chilling and paralyzing fear
and blanketed me with the deepest sense
like falling into
the most relaxing
slumber of my life,
and letting go.
And it was there I found
my earliest memory.
I was inside of the womb
dreaming, looking outside.