Memory of Grief
I remember a four-legged animal strolling through a fire. Poverty in
a prom dress. A girl in a bed trying to tune the AM radio to the voices
of the dead. A temple constructed out of cobwebs into which the
responsibilities of my daily life were swept. Driving through a Stop
sign waving to the woman on the corner, who looked on, horrified.
But I remember, too, the way,
loving everyone equally because each of us would die,
I walked among the crowds of them, wearing
And how, when it was over, I found myself
with a small plastic basket on my arm, just
another impatient immortal
sighing and fidgeting in an unmoving line.