Dead Bird

I used to tease my sister
by playing dead.
If I was persistent enough
enough
she told my mother.

I scared my son the same way.
I was asleep.
I was somewhere
he could not go.
He dragged me back.

We all are going, 
who knows,
I do not know where.

I try, but I can’t make clear
to my son
where it is I go.
I’m not even sure I know.

The dead bird must fly,
the dead bird that has no wings,
back in time and space.

No names where I have gone 
announce the place.
No signs state census.
Asleep or awake, no faces 
or all one face.

My mother is playing dead.
She plays it well.
Mother, did you learn that game
from me?