by Elise LeQuire
The cry of it can rend the night
Or double pulse rates in a flash,
Its orange sheen, its whirling light,
The hearts it holds after a crash.
But listen, should the day approach
When you must stay and I must leave,
Think of me as that shrieking coach
That speeds away; oh how I’ll grieve
To hold a disembodied heart
And leave your side; oh how I’ll moan
At losing you, no surgeon’s art
Can keep a heart alive alone.
Still you will hear me rave and scream
Announcing horror in the night,
And I’ll be in each siren dream
And in each whirling warning light.
My Best Goodbye
by Elise LeQuire
A casual call from the Hilton to see
If Morris Brown remembered me.
His gentle mother’s firm reply,
You haven’t heard he’s going to die?
Of course I knew, but knew not when,
Six months or so, if then.
I wondered, like at the movies, how come
Someone’s always wanting to tell the outcome,
And hurried to see myself. I don’t know how
The conversation took the turn it did.
As we both stared at a bare tree in the yard
I couldn’t remember if it was spring or fall.
I rattled on and on about my plans, my life,
That word kept springing from my lips, like mockery.
And Morris railed, as Morris would, at the cruel irony,
Just when he’d thrown himself into his avocation,
Put out to pasture, perpetual vacation.
But maybe he could find a part in a play that needed an invalid.
As I took final leave, I might return, I lied,
And gave him a hug, forgetting I might snap a rib.
I had to run, it was getting dark, should I find a light?
It didn’t matter, he was going blind.
I left him in the dark, I had to run.
originally posted at thexaminingroom.com