a final thing, toward and away
Odd, how I was asked to write something toward the power of poetry for The Poetry Question soon after the death of my grandmother, and opened it with this line:
‘After one death, there is another.’
Odd, as well, how the piece went live the day of my grandfather’s funeral.
The last day I’d see my grandfather was the day my son with special needs would later be hospitalized for the flu and for pneumonia.
So, this final thing toward the power of poetry: That it makes inside of nothingness a matrix. That it overlays disappearance with a precise, but uncalculated, absence. I have thought, recently, of not being visible for a bit. Of loss and almost loss. But I don’t think it would do what I want it to. I miss most that which I am seeing.
kingsoftrain 
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