Nancy Jane
Grandma laughing on her deathbed.
Eternity, the quiet one, listening in.
Like moths around an oil lamp we were.
Like ragdolls tucked away in the attic.
In walked a cat with a mouthful of feathers.
(How about that?)
A dark little country store full of gravedigger’s
children buying candy.
(That’s how we looked that night.)
The young men pumping gas spoke of his friends:
the clouds.
It was such a sad story, it made everyone laugh.
A bird called out of a tree, but received no answer.
The beauty of that last moment
Like a red sail on the bay at sunset,
Or like a wheel breaking off a car
And roaming the world on its own.
Source: Poetry (July/August 2009)