Like the trial run to the hospital
when I was pregnant,
I visit the San Luis cemetery with its
stone and plastic-flowered landscape.
Death comes with birth, yet
my brain rejects my demise.
On a small hill, a pyramid tomb
points to the sky and, on cue,
turkey vultures circle overhead.
Migrant monarchs roost in these pines.
A butterfly lands. The cluster flares into the sky,
orange and black flags against the blue.
One dips and hovers near me.
Some say death is another birth.
If so, let this be my caterpillar life.