"Mary Tyler Moore wonders who will write her obituary" by Alex Stolis

will they remember how she needed

to feel the ocean, how it brought her

visions of a lover left behind

in another life, before she was lifted

onto the pedestal. Maybe she wants

to be forgotten,

an unmarked grave, ashes scattered.

Memory left to float then disappear

into ether.

Her ghosts stripped her down to real.

No more need to fake or dream or wish

or want what doesn’t matter or care

who understands. The sky is dismal,

a cormorant calls; the wash of the tide

buries the last of her.

Alex lives in Minneapolis