DRAGGING IT OUT
The organ donor dies
over a very long time
and in a great many places
Not immortality exactly
but at least a lingering mortality
And for those of us
who find it so hard to let go
some comfort to know
that kidney that went to a child
might keep us going for another fifty
FEEDING AMELIA
I knew you’d come
was the first thing that she said
as she lay
cancer hollowed on her bed
On the second visit
Robin and I read her the poem
the one you usually get to read
only after they are dead
On the third visit
I brought mushroom soup
from the good restaurant across town
and fed it to her, spoon by gentle spoon
A last meal in three courses
JOHN AND MARY
John Berry writes a poem
for his dear departed Mary
and reads it at all the open mics
It is a lovely poem
about parallel universes
and all the other ways
they might have met
or never met at all
He tells me that it changes
every time he reads it
which makes sense
since it is well known
that you can never step
in the same poem twice
I hear that it is also true of rivers
IN GRATITUDE FOR YOUR LIFE ODE
In memory of Dr. Marvin Kimbrough PhD
Ah Doctor Marvin, you were class in a glass
the glass is broken – class spilt everywhere
I want to believe that all is well and
all your ripples spreading forever
a part of God’s most perfect plan
and yet I also want to say
I stepped on a splinter again today
SERVICE
Every small town funeral
Church ladies serving tea
and sandwiches and cake
Love
through
shaking hands
spreads in quivering
waves
out across the jellied salad
THE STROKE
I lost my father
when he was sixty one
He wasn’t exactly lost
I knew where he was
but he didn’t
Six weeks in a coma
some parts he sent ahead
and some came back
The great Swiss-German
precision driven
driven precision
mind stopped ticking
True the right artistic side
the one he’d put away
the one that mostly died
when his mother died
at eight came out to play
Whatever we hadn’t resolved
and there was plenty
stayed that way
but art is no small
thing either
FOR JEANNE
It is April twentieth
two thousand and eight
Jeanne Guthrie died today
or stepped on a rainbow
as Kinky would say
The e-mail said
they took her off life support
Hell, she was life support
as everyone who knew her knew
for all family, friends, poets
and strays of every cry and hue
Yes, I loved her, as so many loved her
Texas sized heart and humor too
And must admit I loved
how much she loved
one line of my poetry
It is the line in “Winter in The Barn”
where; Kittens wait by a tin plate
to put their morning moustache on
She said it was her favourite line
in this whole wide world
I wonder if she will take it
with her into the next
Or will it remain in the book
Just another book
in a big box of books
packed off to Goodwill
The milk drying
MEMORIAL DAY
Today we honor
those who chose
if choose they did
to serve and die in uniform
For some cause or causes
made noble by
their dying
And by ennobling
perhaps persuade
Is the next day, or the next
for those who shared the hell
but did not dress so well
And their numbers
oh yes, the terrible
terrible numbers
But we best not
speak of numbers
for in death, one
is the only number
And if we cannot
speak of math
can we speak
of aftermath
Land mines in the ground
mass destruction
in slow motion
Land mines in the mind
a uniform heritage
for those who did
and did not wear
a uniform
A moment of silence now
for us all
QUESTIONS FOR THE NEXT SÉANCE
Dearest Mother;
Sorry to disturb you
in your well deserved bliss,
but here’s a short list
of things that I forgot to ask
And, if it isn’t too much trouble
I’d like the answers as detailed as possible
It will be understandable
if you can’t conjure up a voice,
but one rap for yes, and two for no,
on a floating table won’t quite do
However, if you can look up Samuel Morse,
(who may well be bored and available),
he can give you a quick-study course
and I will dust off my old Boy Scout manual
I believe “talk to me” In Morse still becomes:
-/•-/•-•/-•- -/— –/•
So, now that we’ve got the hang of it;
– What was the best day of your life
– What was your worst
– Your greatest triumph
– Your greatest disappointment
– What you are happiest that you did
– Saddest that you didn’t
Why exactly did my uncle shoot my dog
Whatever happened to my baseball
card collection, with the rookie
Mickey Mantle
and what is heaven like
HOMESTEADER’S GRAVE
Homesteader’s grave
soft blanket of November snow
white on Gray’s Elegy