Thursday, November 15, 2012

Catechism, 1958 by W. M. Ransom

She hovered hooded, blue-eyed:
"what happens to those souls
who take their own lives?"
Your eyes inspected your desk, hopelessly,
"Stand when called upon!"
Your so-white hands
shook like ginkgo leaves,
Breathless tears moved you slowly to the door.
I sat, quiet as packed dirt.
"If you leave this room,
keep on going."
Years behind those flooded eyes
your father dangled like a burrnt moth
from a noose in our old tree house.
Both of us keep on going.

No comments:

Post a Comment