Just tipped chairs
bottles and brooms.
It’s closing time
in Gnashville.
Just tipped chairs
bottles and brooms.
It’s closing time
in Gnashville.
Error’s a bit player now,
but he used to be big,
in the morality plays.
You had Pride then, too,
and Death,
and kids called Patience
and Fear
Mourning your moaning
Crooning your groaning
Loving your passing
Second-guessing the mist
Said earthly good isn’t so good.
Some heaven doth give it the lie.
From flesh and dreams
to the scratching short of death.
This set of three poems was prompted by the untimely death of a young mother. May she rest in peace and may her family know the consolation of a loving (the living) God.
1. SHE IS SCHOOLED IN THE HARDER MYSTERIES-
in the grammar of disappointment
and math of endless days.
2. WHAT IS SPENT
to prevent
the one final flare-out?
3. SUICIDE FLOWERS
Wouldn’t they make you sick,
your mother gone
and these instead,
pert with the pollen of dropsy?