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In Honor Of
by Lisa Marie Brodsky
Perhaps twenty-four pills would
take me away in the black carriage
in the dead of night.
Crows would mourn for me as Im
buried in an anonymous pine grove.
How could I say I would give this up?
How could I extract the pen from my hand,
which wrote while I slept of the
lamb of the lost. I dreamt of
the North Star pulling my hand in
wide circles, writing my life,
running after people with sheets
of paper.
How could I give this life to a stranger
who wouldnt know what to do with it?
Even I dont know what to do with it
except keep passing out these pieces of paper
with bundles of words on them, words that
beg forgiveness; they tell a rainbow to
exist without rain, the words hold grasp
your hand like a girl looking up,
way up at the ceiling
of the Sistine chapel.
01/19/2007 Posted on 01/19/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky
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