gracenote.

 

 

 

the nurse gathered us around

to say our final good bye's,

she said, as if good bye

was the mouse in the basement

laundry, cowering, were

the washtub sits. And

all need be done is to dispatch

of it with the stiff

bristles of a corn broom or a

damp towel and pressure.

Just squeeze it

and good bye will squeal and

squirm in your palm; for

what's left over of pain, I

offer no suggestions.

Kissing the forehead is

a sign of tender devotion.

Better the crucifix,

bought from the Africans

at the festival, dangle from

your chin. That holds profound

the spandrel of symbol like

the graffiti that appeared

overnight on the side of my garage.

"F*g Lives Here", and I recall

Jesus and the Negroes that turned

him in, and the image of him

painting those words over

wearing the same faded coveralls

he wore off to

 

eternity.

Reviews

[JC]

In your writing I find Detroit I think as well, your stark words, truth and unabashed, bared and courageous, have gritty edges..the subject of death...has it become a sadness mixed with commodity and chore? like Christmas or Valentines day? something we attend to instead of fully embracing? I really dig the metaphors you use, they are lively and vivid. I'm a fan, you're laying down the real deal.

[W.k.kortas]

Ah, what a sweep here--the rituals of death and the cruelties, minor and otherwise, of everyday life, Jesus and some punk with a spray can, the officious hurried goodbye and the final, stark singleness of eternity. So often I read something, and I can say (at least to myself) that here's a bit of Pound, there's a touch of Masters, oh and there's some Ginsburg sticking out in the corner there. You? Original and fully contained, amen.

[writing mojo]

this is what writers do with the majesty introspective lead from ignorance, scripture bliss...is what prophets do to experience pain or suffering to get through the unknown..excellent piece

[jacob erin-cilberto]

no matter what we are in life, that is the cloak we will wear to eternity...
and those who gather to say goodbye...will weep and judge and weep and judge some more---

i want to be hovering in spirit...hear what they say?

will their words paint the same image as the one created by what they say now?

cool poem.

[taittems]

Cool. I like this: "he said, as if good bye
was the mouse in the basement
laundry, cowering, were
the washtub sits. "