Printer Friendly


 Dredged from a burial ground, what's left of his aged body in
stone is torso, one leg and arm, a noseless face with sunken eyes and
down-turned mouth. He would have leaned his weight on a cane as he
mourned his wife recumbent, dead, but she is gone. Even his staff is
broken. What he depicts is how the living felt about their dead, the
marble ending that waits for all.
 If I stand close enough he stares at me, but I'm not a missing
spouse, and I must leave to walk the streets where a woman muffled in
collared coat might be staring beyond her stride to a child she never
had or lover who will never unlock their door again.
Let me lean tonight on elbows over a glass of cabernet, see the
reflection of your face in a polished spoon. Candle flames pulse with
each breath of our passing words. Let's conspire to make such
fragments come together when we lie down in the ending of this day,
COPYRIGHT 2009 University of Nebraska Press
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2009 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Broughton, Thomas Alan
Publication:Prairie Schooner
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2009
Previous Article:The Bear.
Next Article:Leaving a Mark.

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