Clutch
2009 September 25
I watched a film tonight
about a suicide note
and thought of you, mother-
a husband’s ink-stained hands,
a hole shot through two souls.
It said, “Listen to your heart,
I will speak to you there,”
and I remember you yesterday-
making coffee with one steady hand
as the other clutched your chest,
the faint smell of smoke
wafting from the toaster.
At the time, I thought you were
simply trying to get hold
of your dangling bifocals.
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These are lines that drive the reader well beyond incident, tragedy, sorrow: they strike, retreat, then strike again. What we’re left with is looking through lenses of “corrected” perspective – nothing 20/20 could ever accomplish but through this wonderful poet’s meticulous eye. The reader, here too, gropes for the heart. Brilliant!