Nightshade
41 73 The Brooklyn Bridge Death Car on the Highway EJH On Passing TO KARLA TREVVOR Elegy
41
Out of the darkness
falls a shadow.
It comes hurtling
through some unknown tunnel
to rest hesitantly on my pillow.
I know it's there-
but I can't remember when it came
or how, or why-
I fight to emerge conscious
from the drowning sea
my sheets and blankets make for me.
Numbly, I fish for the nightshirt
that I dimly remember leaving by my bedside.
I float across the room
and fumble with the remains
of my other life:
books, papers, dishes,
and a clock.
I must find a pencil
because I always forget
in the morning.
I feel helpless
and I can't seem to find the switch
that turns on the light.
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73
You do not notice me
watching your reflection
in a pane of glass.
Overpowering, unspeakable joy
wells up in my breast-
There are no words for my greatest loves
or my deepest pains.
I am glad you do not see me,
and ask me to explain this
that you already know
my small secret joy
held tight in this tiny, fierce moment.
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The Brooklyn Bridge
For nearly a hundred years
you have straddled the East River.
Your stone towers, brown and solemn
stand like great, arched cathedrals.
How many of the multitudes
passing here, have looked to you
for hidden beauty, finding it
in your great, brooding span?
What number of tormented souls
come to you,
and seeking peace
you show them where the river lies-
how many souls have you set free?
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Death Car on the Highway
On the hood, it said
"Death is certain. Life is not."
And because it was already a poem
as it happened
I write only what I saw
a I walked home:
a car with the word
death
painted on the hood
swerved to avoid hitting
a cat.
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EJH
Watcher from above,
I stood at the top of the stairs
sharing with you
the same clear sky,
the same white moon.
Caught in a precious moment,
a sense of awe and rejoicing
made me want to call out to you
Good Night and Sleep Well,
you are beautiful, you are loved.
Silent, I watched you
cross to your car
and drive away.
I could not disturb your quiet-walking.
It was too calm,
too perfect.
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ON PASSING
When I went to visit him,
we both pretended he was fine
and i pretended to believe him
when he told me what he planned to do
when he got out, when he came home.
We laughed and planned a million things
for which there wasn't any time
he promised me a Sunday drive
and candied apples by the shore
and all the little things we loved
I laughed and said we'd have some fun.
Something caught there in my throat-
i coughed but could not free it.
When he got out, he wasn't coming home.
i kissed him on the forehead,
and his desperate eyes told me
not to say what i had to.
"Yes, we'll have some fine times," I said.
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TO KARLA
Like copper that is tarnished,
tarnished brass and lead,
the heavens on a cloudy night,
a brickyard in the rain.
Your eyes are covered over,
sparkle lost to shroud,
as high up in that dark night sky
the star-obscuring cloud.
i wonder, if i walked with you
that brickyard in the rain
and looked, for gold and pewter,
would it help to ease the pain?
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TREVVOR
He leaned back in an old chair that
creaked when he moved,
his feet hooked over the porch rail
facing west, out to open spaces.
He started to whistle a fragment of a tune
he'd learned as a small child,
but forgotten along the way.
It was out of place
out there
so he stopped.
He looked over his shoulder
in through the window
to where the old woman lay dying,
alone in the room.
She was resting now,
and he thought maybe he would go in
and sit by her.
But then he turned to study the peeling paint
on the windowsill.
A cricket sang as he turned to watch the sun
go down.
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Elegy
Syracuse lost
the ball game last night.
It made me think
of the last time i was in Syracuse
and found myself
pushing a car
on a street
where someone i once loved lives.
Everything was cold and grey,
encased in ice
as we tried so hard
to keep the car from slipping
out of control,
down the hill, because
Everything
slides, too easily,
down.
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