New Poems - February 17 and 18

Someone is Always Dying

And still we are surprised
the cryptic message
left on a voicemail
or an answering machine

"call as soon as you can, call before
you do another thing..."
the knowingness
as what is cryptic to the caller
becomes crystal clear
to the receiver
quietly, listening, knowing

now the vacant space
the newly widowed
with her strong face
her folding and unfolding
of her helpless hands

all the days spent beside her
his gradual leaving
each day, saying a good-bye
in each labored breath

and still, the surprise and the question
of how to fill the space
to close off the rush of empty air
whirling about her, blowing up her skirts

we, the living, sit and contemplate
utter our personal philosophies
spew forth our beliefs or lack of
so wanting to be right about
our imaginary versions of the hereafter

he was a child, she was a child
they had moments
perhaps, they tasted tea in the afternoon sun
skinned their knees running down grassy hills
and turned their clothing green
because of it

maybe they had fleeting moments
anticpating what if and when
and pushed them away
like a plate, having consumed too much
at the dinner table

maybe the point of a life
is to learn to resign oneself
to the inevitable end
and then throw that thought into the wind

this moment
he was breathing
this moment
he stopped
this moment
she was breathing
this moment
she stopped

this moment
i am breathing.

Here, Now, Look, Gone

coffee in the red mug, gone cold
upstairs, a toilet flushing
the truck passing the house
the clock and it's tuneful
announcement of the hour
whirring computer fan
cracked fingers on keys
a hot flash, throw off the robe
a rush of cold
the cat crossing the room
against my leg
a list beside, the papers
piled to the sky
someone coming closer
calling my name
trying to think
while the critics scream
escape
the room
the silent whir of common noises
open the door
gone.

karensaint