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As I Lay Dying

for James Franco

This was how it was
to die back then, one
son sawing rough pine
boards beside the barn
to build a box to lay you in,
while you lay sweating
in the twisted sheets,
too weak and sick
to turn or toss.  Mule
flies by day; at night,
mosquitoes. They’ll say,
just like they always do,
“She’s gone to a better home.” 
Who knows or cares?
Too late now; what
happens happens.

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John Lawson teaches writing at Robert Morris University in Pittsburgh. His poetry and plays have been published in many online and print venues including Paper Street and Main Street Rag, and his poetry collection, Generations, was published by St. Andrews College Press in 2007.