I walked before I crawled, and
I crawled before I learned to roll over.
Falling onto my back was easy.
Playing dead was safe.
The panels of my coffin were
soft and shiny satin lined.
I was a comfortable cadaver.
My cold shell, preserved.
But one night,
I dreamed beyond the catafalque, and
with the taste of fresh morning dew,
I dropped to the ground,

Tinamarie Cox

Tinamarie Cox lives in Northern Arizona with her husband and two children. She writes to escape her mind and explore the universe. Tinamarie’s poetry has appeared in Nevermore Journal, Grim & Gilded, The Sirens Call, and others. You can follow her on Instagram@tinamariethinkstoomuch and Twitter@tinamarie_cox.