i.
I heard you went to church
that morning. And the rope
was it already noosed? knotted?
I didn't go to church that morning.
I stopped praying when I colored the Savior
black and blue in CCD, his heart gold,
a cold purple crown.
But you went to church early that day.
And I missed the morning.
You would miss the evening.
It will pour on Christmas.
ii.
I woke up late,
brunched at the Toast
because Harvey's was closed,
my sister and I, frustrated.
You were muttering. Perhaps
praying? You were silent.
Crying? There was silence.
I had eggs over-hard on toast.
I scraped my plate clean.
And you swung.
iii.
Your three daughters are shaking, Donna.
Last night, your eyes were closed like mine
and I saw them screaming, tearing
at their hair, their young faces crumpled,
torrents of tears.
Their fingers only fists.
It was desperate, Donna.
I turned in my sleep so many times last night.
There was nothing else I could do.
You lay in your silence
your last words held fast in a still heart.
Winter settled thickly about you.
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3 comments:
Love the lines at the end of each section.
all of iii. is my favorite, I think you strike a solid balance between passion and simplicity.
I don't care for the lines "because Harveys was closed/my sister and I, frustrated." They read like a reason or in a poem that doesn't give any other justification, only facts and feelings.
This poem was called "trite" by Prof. Monica Chiu and "perfect" by Prof. Charles Simic.
not a lot of middle ground there. what do you think about it?
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