Observations in a Cemetery

I don't think I ever really feared death.
I used to play on these graves
when I was a child.
My elementary school had a cemetery
in its backyard
right next to the playground
and behind the classrooms.
Death was an every day reminder.
Maybe that is why I stood next to tombstones
and traced my finger over names—
I wanted to allow myself to be
on this side of the earth.
I think I lived with a foot in the ground
anxiety threatening to swallow me whole.
And as I grew, depression followed in suit.
I was painfully aware that the only separation
between life and death was breath.
Painfully aware that life was hard
and good
and good and hard.

So I danced on graves and memorized names.
I spoke my name and felt the earth.
I raced the clouds and traced my skin.
I was
of the earth
begging for resurrection
and finding myself alive still.

I went back to that graveyard
twelve years later.
I did not dare to dance on death.
Instead I sat and wrote this
for myself
for you
for everyone that knows what it is
to be alive by a breath.
A heartbeat.
An unresolved life.
This is for those of us with one foot in the grave
painfully aware of what it is like
to live with mental illness
and working our way through healing.