These Trinkets

by Anele Rubin

These trinkets I return to you,
these bodies that housed
the spirits of those
who peopled my world,

these I have not power to hold,
I begrudgingly have seen you take,
I have not wanted to release, these
you reclaim.

If only I had had a clear warning.
If only I knew how to act around you.
If only I knew how to cherish the living
and let go of the others,
let my mind release them
since anyway they are torn from my grasp.

If only I could relax my hold
that holds nothing,
if only I could let the dead go
and stay without looking after them
with such longing.

Take these trinkets, these bodies.
Take these people from me.
Why do I say it
when it’s already done?
Why do I need to will
what I have no power to prevent?

Is it my way of denying
you while bowing,
my way of denying
the power I bow before,

acting like it matters whether I go along,
whether I get on board,
pretending I have some say,
that I’m a partner,
that I approve, that I love,
you, that I sanction death?