requiem for a poet
words are easy.
unwritten, they wait.
chancing the surface
now and again, sending signals
to a tired mind, rattling around
in the head of a girl
who has forgotten
how to listen.
the pen's never near, but
there’s a block tower to build,
a train wreck on the living room rug,
and a husband with no clean socks.
words are easy.
time is hard.
stanzas float through her
at the speed of light.
protons from an ordinary sun
stream across space and time.
buried in their quantum cores,
energy enough to power
the cosmos, or bring it to a halt.
this rock still spins
one night, after she lost the
hundredth (thousandth?) first line
to the domestic din, she dreamt
of resurrection.
this girl who denies the afterlife,
praying she’s mistaken.
unwritten, they wait.
chancing the surface
now and again, sending signals
to a tired mind, rattling around
in the head of a girl
who has forgotten
how to listen.
the pen's never near, but
there’s a block tower to build,
a train wreck on the living room rug,
and a husband with no clean socks.
words are easy.
time is hard.
stanzas float through her
at the speed of light.
protons from an ordinary sun
stream across space and time.
buried in their quantum cores,
energy enough to power
the cosmos, or bring it to a halt.
this rock still spins
one night, after she lost the
hundredth (thousandth?) first line
to the domestic din, she dreamt
of resurrection.
this girl who denies the afterlife,
praying she’s mistaken.
posted by Melissa at 11:36 PM
1 Comments:
words are easy.
time is hard.
[Would that that were true; words are as hard as time--and just as arbitrary.]
protons from an ordinary sun
stream across space and time.
buried in their quantum cores,
energy enough to power
the cosmos, or bring it to a halt.
[You are at your best when you are a bit science-y]
this girl who denies the afterlife,
praying she’s mistaken.
[Good ending. Remember Huck: "You can't pray a lie." So it must be true. And dreams do come true. ("yes they do, yes they do, yes they do")]
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