I don’t want to die, I’m ten years old and

I don’t want to die, I’ve barely begun

living but one day I have to, I mean

die, whether it’s tomorrow or ten years

from now or ninety, I may as well die

now I tell the ceiling in my bedroom,

it will pass it on to the roof and may

-be the roof give it to the sky and may

-be it will float up to Heaven and God

will hear it, maybe even listen, may

-be even act and make me immortal

and never too old up until the end

which will never come. I told my Sunday

School teacher what I wish for – long for – but

she was angry and made me let her pray

over me to get the demon of self

-ishness out but I don’t think it’s taken,

now all I think of are cool slender fingers

on my scalp, it’s summertime, and what to

do now that I’ve fallen in love. Tonight

I’ll pray about that – I’ll be up a while.