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Every day I give birth
to my death. Each death is different.
They flutter around like moths.
I find them in dusty corners, in drawers,
or trapped in the spider webs
hanging from the ceiling. My deaths
can see my ancestors and talk to them.
My deaths sing to each other
children's songs in minor keys.
They prefer lullabies.
I fall asleep, listening.
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Radio
I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark
from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman
An amazing photograph for an amazing poem. Thank you, Lera Auerbach.
Posted by: Emily Fragos | September 03, 2021 at 07:36 PM
Stirring, startling, wonderful!
Posted by: Patricia Traxler | September 04, 2021 at 05:21 AM
Excellent poem by Lera Auerbach....it did get me thinking....
My deaths smell like mothballs
Placed in closets where I hide
from my fears of moths and spiders
Order Lepidoptera sing
to Order Araneae
Keeping order in the house
Orchestrating death to disappear
Until it reveals
it's face in due time
Posted by: Joel Weiner | September 04, 2021 at 07:35 AM
Beautiful poem and great response from Joel Weiner.
Posted by: sarah gelder | September 04, 2021 at 12:29 PM