Sunday, September 10, 2006

Poem: Tim J Brennan

a good day to die

is more than wood
burning, is more
than living beyond
the chippewa river
where drums beat,
letters are written
to life long friends,
& breezes cross
water as softly as
skin beneath
a mother’s wrist

on friday i wanted her
to be kneaded into bread,
set near a warm window
sill with a damp towel,
allowing her to rise
and feed me once more

by sunday she couldn’t see
me anymore; it was raining
and i watched my words,
pale as newsprint, running
together. being no longer
useful, i folded them carefully,
& threw them away

a blue carnation,
white chrysanthemums
myself withering in place
of last rites, until finally,
a well deserved day off

~ Tim Brennan can be reached at this email address.

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