Snaps
“. . . I knew him, Horatio. . .”
Posted April 23 2012
That you are dying is sure.
As the blood that warms the hands lying before you,
As the light that slants across the cloud-scarred sky.
You are hollow as the stick of wood
That crackles into embers dying with the fire,
Lying in the hot grate, gray amid the fire.
Nothing can quench the desire.
But you know already that no one will care
When it comes time to forget to pay
That last bill, or water those forgotten flowers
Dying in the warm bed, already dead
To your desire. Or if something isn’t said
When you fall dizzy in the shower,
Or when the doctor enters the cramped room
Where you sit scared, and frowns and shakes her head.
No one will share, when you confront the empty sky.
All else will live or die that day, other people
Will clean the cold grate, watch rain fill the flowers,
Cancel the bill. The doctor will spend those hours
With others, not recalling where you once sat,
Bearing in warm hands the warmth of a slanted fire,
Crackling with the hope of unshared desire.
Comments (7)
Version 1 posted on August 21 2011 at 11:41PM
HungerGamesGirl59 Wrote:
I liked the irony you inflicted into this tragic yet moving piece. It was quite beautiful.
June 24 2012 at 4:35PM
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ReplyThomas Dargan Wrote:
Having a little trouble with shifts in place and time. The flowers in the warm bed get outside to be rained on. We go from deathbed to shower to chair. Great about how others look away while we die.
April 01 2012 at 9:13PM
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Replythe other guy Wrote:
There is a simple answer. The "warm bed" is not a bed in which humans sleep, not a deathbed. (I don't know why flowers would be in such a bed.) Rather, the bed is a flowerbed -- outside, of course, where they can be rained on. As to the "shower" and the "chair", these are not events occuring in order, they are different (sample) situations, which is why they are connected with an "or".
April 02 2012 at 11:46PM
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ReplyVenus in Furs Wrote:
Beautiful and tragic. Love the irony as you subtly juxtapose the crackling hollow stick of wood that is the dying man to the doctor's hands "crackling with hope." Smart and resonating. My favorite collection of lines: "No one will share, when you confront the empty sky./ All else will live or die that day, other people/Will clean the cold grate, watch rain fill the flowers,/Cancel the bill." One thing I don't understand is the punctuation in these lines (why the comma after share?, why not a period after grate?, can't understand what this non-traditional punctuation is trying to accomplish, or if it merely a mistake?). Other than that, a poem which boldly sheds light on an often unconfronted truth, and does so with grace and without flinching.
August 22 2011 at 10:41PM
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ReplyThe Gorgon Wrote:
The perfect pick-me-up for a beautiful day. It always helps being reminded that we die alone, in our own arms, and that we are moving inexorably towards that truth. I need a Xanax. Other guy, this is beautiful stuff. I hope you grace us with some more of your excellent writing. And that you put a disclaimer at the top: abandon all hope, ye who read further.
August 22 2011 at 12:03PM
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ReplyDelicate Flower Wrote:
You summed it all up so eloquently. Chillingly, beautifully done.
August 22 2011 at 11:51AM
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ReplyR. W. Scott Wrote:
A moving, and telling piece. Well done.
August 22 2011 at 10:03AM
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