Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Dead Grandpa Fades to Black. Or Green.

from The Complete Dead Grandpa


At last, Dead Grandpa says, the dead
live for the live, not for themselves:
he for life only, they for life in him.

Tonight the grandson feels the wind
irrigate dreams and dreams there is
a little touch of Grandpa in the night.

And just as well. The more he's dead,
the less he is. He's losing mass.
This afterlife is more than life.

Soon he will be rolled round with rocks:
have his wish worth: remember, me,
death is the reason for the long season.

Think forward to a birth, your death,
the end. We can be met as grass
and ignorant and blind and very green.

Sunday, November 02, 2008

All Sorts of Things

This appeared in Candelabrum, a long time ago.


Jane had decided late on Anglo-Saxon.
She drove away to Rochester, to live
with her new friend, and did, until she drove
into a bridge abutment. So I saw
her not again. I never saw the friend.

There must be at least a story there, what happened,
that sounds like a story; but it's missing something.
It wasn't organized; it just occurred.
Where was she going? Does her mother think
she meant to do it? What was this new girlfriend,

and why is it she wasn't in the car?
These are the sorts of things nobody knows,
except for the ones who get to make it up.
So to Jane's mother maybe it makes sense.
And maybe to the friend. And maybe not.