Dr. Quigley Fell in Love
- The Fringes of Enlightenment
Dr. Quigley fell in love
with poetry
many years ago. He remembers
watching the elders cut
the ham one year, and he admired
the commitment involved,
the concentration, the way
the voices in the room rose
and fell with excitement
and criticism. He is unable to stop
the rush of ideas
that come to him on mornings
like this, the poetic hours
that live on the fringes
of enlightenment, just over there
beyond the candles
near the piano and the frost
on the window.
Now, he is aware of the nursing homes
to come, the burials,
the impossible goodbyes.
He wants to believe in the afterlife.
It is hard to remember the light
on those faces and think of them
as works of art,
but he does it anyway:
He imagines rivers to travel,
trails to hike in the hills that overlook
the river Styx,
campfires that summon the gods
and sleep, to sleep
a long night of a thousand winters
and wake up here,
watching the ham fall on his plate,
seems fitting for poetry.
He will eat it anyway.
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