If Coma is a Comma, Is Death a Period or an Ellipsis?
by Linda Fuller
Death stinks like potatoes
left too long
in a dark cupboard.
Ivy fastens little sucker mouths
under the magnolia’s bark.
The fieldmouse quivers in its cover
of rotting leaves;
the owl stirs circles in the night sky.
My silver spoon stirs
the steaming brew
boiling water has awakened
from freeze-dried crystals.
Near the dying orange tree
still bright with fruit,
the possum melts in the sun
skin and hair puddling
around grinning bone.
Stone mastodons struggle in la brea.
I see the ponderous march of elephants
trunk to tail.
The widow burning on the pyre
imagines she is floating
on an ice floe into the aurora.
Posted on 05/27/2010
Copyright © 2019 Linda Fuller
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/27/10 at 05:38 PM|
...ellipsis, you got me gal...i love 'em and o'course, use 'em alot...life is an ellipsis. something was always going on before...know whut i mean eugene...great write.
|Posted by Shirin Swift on 06/25/10 at 11:17 PM|
deep down harmonies and connections and reflections reaching into the centre of many things, this is lovely
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/16/11 at 12:05 AM|
Nothing like the stench of rotting potato. You give death its due here - it does all of these things very well, wouldn't you say? I haven't seen the period yet, so I'm going for the ellipsis.
|Posted by Rob Littler on 12/08/17 at 07:06 AM|
the period after death is the eclipsis