Printer Friendly

A.

Almost,
  the therapist would say, Almost.
 Dear Angie, a paid optimist. And so again she'd slide the pen And
paper across the sunroom table. The first At first held upside down for
A moment or simply dropped or flung Aside. The second a thing mostly
just stared at. Again,
 the pen, the paper. April, May, June, July--months of bitten, broken,
Aligned to probe an earhole with, A crumpled morsel to be tasted or
swallowed until Aglow late one afternoon Angie rushes out to greet us
with what looks like A toddler's tepee slashed once in rage
incarnate--the letter A as adduced by my father after his third stroke.
Also per Klaus, the King of Chimpanzees, in his cage At the
Internationale de Paris in 1937--held up for the crowd-- Etonnant!
 Neither of which was ever followed by Another letter let history record
let alone a word. Alone--yes. Side by side, as I've placed them.
Their scanned And printed-out facsimiles Affixed with thumbtacks to the
whitewashed wall Above my desk, the silence there A silence my
shadow-head leans into, listening. As if someday an answer will emerge
from it: which the more pitiable. Ah, no. The more les dieux absents.
 The more complete. 
COPYRIGHT 2016 University of Nebraska Press
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2016 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Lawless, Daniel
Publication:Prairie Schooner
Article Type:Poem
Date:Dec 22, 2016
Words:246
Previous Article:Buddhist Perversions.
Next Article:Antoinette in Flames.
Topics:

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2019 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters