What he wished was to have his ashes flushed
down the ladies’ room toilet of Syracuse City Hall,
which would so clog the pipes that the resulting
blast of glutinous broth would douse the place clean
Death in the fog, all silver
& grisaille as it wreathes
& muffles children in the park.
Forget all the nonsense
about eyes opened or closed
or brain waves
So many I’ve lost; I see them
Down a long corridor the door open
To a bright snowy day.
When I get to the hospital I see that someone has sent my grandmother a big bouquet of pink roses and the card reads: Welcome. Nana laughs and sticks the … Continue reading