Thank you to Stephanie J. Bardy, David K. Montoya, and Jeff R. Young of The World Of Myth Magazine for publishing my poem in the October issue.

Talking To My Mortician 
By: Linda Imbler 

I am lying still with a mannequin's programming, 
at some sort of turning point, 
all my busy days behind me.

Standing over me 
is a meaningful consultant 
whose job it is to lessen the obscenity. 
He'll make me a faint resemblance 
of what I was. 
Upon my chalk-white face, 
he will give me a pretty cover 
before they place me in that wretched cell, 
and my sleep strengthens even further inside profound dark.

He seems decent enough, 
and shows an earnest curiosity 
about me, therefore, 
I do not wish to be a bad client, 
and want us both to be comfortable 
with this interaction about to take place.

I've always been somewhat of an eminent blabbermouth, 
and as the clock ticks, 
I feel induced to speak, 
to explain to him the origin of every scar and blemish: 
the dappled birthmark on my leg, 
the sharply defined scar across my brow, 
the swirly pigmentation of the follicles in my wavy hair.

As his final touch, he sews my jaw shut, 
and although I now lie mute with deadened lips, 
I do have to say that he was a very good listener, 
and I look marvelous!