Jody's Notes
Last moment poems. Is that a genre? (It ought to be.) Certainly, I've written a few of them. At least two. (Even though, near as I can tell, each person only gets one. One last moment, I mean. It's one of the minor entitlements of being a writer. To, as it were, get more than one.)
Shadows, small embryos of night:
pool around my bedside.
The quiet rustle of commiseration:
“So sad it had to happen now”: time
visceral on their hands.
Cast by nothing,
the dark of the solitary
doorstep, the unscrolled
clock. Somewhere
the past pools up
like a hoard: its root
deep in equation
solved by angels.
For now, I exhale.
Little moments scatter like rain.
The sullen puddle evaporates.
© 1999 Jody Azzouni