Saturday, January 15, 2011

* The Minute After



The minute after I die
if it is winter
as it is today
the great smokestack
in Hanover
will still 
send out its
frozen breath
for all to see
from 
miles around.


Students 
will still walk 
Wheelock hill
as Webster
walked.

It is a small college
no more
yet there are those
who love her.
Still.

But I will be gone.


Nowhere in particular
everywhere in general:
this great filter
Consciousness
grinding to a halt
Dissolving
into a trillion
trillion-trillion
aimless
atoms,
homeless
suddenly
emancipated
infinitely dispersing.


No more to shift gears 
on Ledyard Bridge
and think of
Mrs. Stowe
long still
Emancipator
Mother 
(birther of death)
to the son 
drowned
one 
swimming day
in the cool
Connecticut
below.


 Gone.
Moving.
Still.









No comments: