Three Poems On Death and a Fourth
I hear the news okay, so someone died; i go for a walk. the summer grass is golden, my skin is golden, the little dust of lake flies, golden. a note left scrawled on a stone garden wall by white geraniums: trees for free, take them, a symbol of reincarnation or so i think in the hazy sun. okay, so someone died. so what, I still have to practice the saxophone. so what of his dancing, so what of his dreams, so what of his mother. okay, so someone died; so where is he? i would like to talk to him about this. he’s still in the group chat so let us ask him about it. i’m tired of this plotline, can’t you take it back? okay, so someone died; in the neighbor’s backyard, i hear children screaming laughing beneath sprinklers which in the fading light are golden. i can’t write the right words to fill a person. okay, so someone died, but he’s far away, in ontario, by the lakes, under the trees, and so it hasn’t happened yet, and i will never see him again, and so it ...