By: Janet Buck
State: Oregon
Country: USA
The Viewing
I bring you an arrangement
of measured flowers in a shapely vase
we'd rather slam against some wall.
A flat of muffins no one wants.
Vacant stomachs growl at fate,
relishing their emptiness.
Your husband's life has earned that void.
"The viewing of his body," you say,
in a fog of sobs, "is scheduled
for Wednesday afternoon."
I will approach what I cannot
bear to hover beside:
tilted lampshades of your hat,
begging back his light removed.
Thirsty for prayers that don't seem real.
A time when souls must
band like wedding rings.
Death stings globes, unready flesh,
relentless stalking scorpions.
A bible seems a cruel tryst.
Sulking sorrow, cotton mouth,
dandelions stripped by wind.
Our eyes without mascara wands,
proving welts, swollen with grief's adages.
Human is a tiny wing, a piece of meat
in skies of circling scavengers.
Marble fountains--waterless.
Composure's ruler won't exist.
Copyright © Janet Buck 2000
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Comments: The depth of your verse always stops me in my tracks, Janet. Other people's poems are snacks. Yours are entire feasts of images..
Name: rob walker
EMail: walker5@one.net.au
Comments: You've managed to capture such grief and hoplessness in these few words.
The death of a loved one is such a hard thing to bear. This is a powerful work.
Name: Ed Allen
EMail: eallen553@aol.com
Comments: I have always liked your style, especially the subversive nature of your verse. Have enjoyed this poem -
another good one along with 'The Crust' ie. *ego's turtle on its back* & 'The Trinity' - *the bulky cross of wooden strides* -Fresh and different and not tired!
Best wishes
Helen Hagemann
Comments: Oops! I meant I enjoyed your poem, Janet....
Name: phattkat
Comments: Such petals you throw from some idyllic hemisphere-
Name: val magnuson
EMail: vallmagnuson@poetsporch.com
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