and set it on the mantle.
It had warmed but wasn’t flat.
The sun danced off the lake
which should have been ice-covered
but was as bare as the hands
wrapped in a rosary.
Let them wonder that you walked
amongst their grieving
and finished your final beer unfettered.
It had warmed but wasn’t flat.
The sun danced off the lake
which should have been ice-covered
but was as bare as the hands
wrapped in a rosary.
Let them wonder that you walked
amongst their grieving
and finished your final beer unfettered.
For Brendan at Earthweal, poetry for a changing world.
10 comments:
That is a great write.. what will the last of us think about in the end?
Wonderful. Envious of the depth of images, the story, created by these few words.
Thotpurge,
Thank you. That question has no answer, though we could make some educated guesses.
Anthony,
I'm envious of the images you create!
Thanks!
Those closing lines have such impact. Wonderful work.
Just mysterious and spiritual enough to be Jesus or the speaker, or a ghost or Elijah . . . Good!
They say the ritual of wake/funeral is more for the living,but here you bring it back to its rightful owner. I love the sparing feel of this, where every word counts, and speaks to a soul whose state of rest is as yet undetermined.
"...was as bare as the hands
wrapped in a rosary." The image so perfectly fits in the mourning scenes.
This is so very well written & so deep. One to savor.
I do love the thought that we should mourn the dead, but in the end, it would make me constantly drunk.
Oh, Brudberg, you just made me laugh out loud! And I admit, it was I who drank the dead man's beer.
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