Summary: Jacob Lyman's world comes crashing down.
Notes: Sorry to do this to you all but this has been sitting in my drafts for eons and I felt a sudden urge to finish it. First poem ain't mine, the second one is (the latter inspired by the former).
"Auto Wreck" by Karl Shapiro
"Its quick soft silver bell beating, beating,
And down the dark one ruby flare
Pulsing out red light like an artery,
The ambulance at top speed floating down
Past beacons and illuminated clocks
Wings in a heavy curve, dips down,
And brakes speed, entering the crowd.
The doors leap open, emptying light;
Stretchers are laid out, the mangled lifted
And stowed into the little hospital.
Then the bell, breaking the hush, tolls once.
And the ambulance with its terrible cargo
Rocking, slightly rocking, moves away,
As the doors, an afterthought, are closed.
We are deranged, walking among the cops
Who sweep glass and are large and composed.
One is still making notes under the light.
One with a bucket douches ponds of blood
Into the street and gutter.
One hangs lanterns on the wrecks that cling,
Empty husks of locusts, to iron poles.
Our throats were tight as tourniquets,
Our feet were bound with splints, but now,
Like convalescents intimate and gauche,
We speak through sickly smiles and warn
With the stubborn saw of common sense,
The grim joke and the banal resolution.
The traffic moves around with care,
But we remain, touching a wound
That opens to our richest horror.
Already old, the question
Who shall die?
Becomes unspoken
Who is innocent?
For death in war is done by hands;
Suicide has cause and stillbirth, logic;
And cancer, simple as a flower, blooms.
But this invites the occult mind,
Cancels our physics with a sneer,
And spatters all we knew of denouement
Across the expedient and wicked stones."
New York
1999
Dim light from a reading lamp.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep.
He'd wanted to wait up,
To ask about the party
And listen to their stories
Of pompous academics.
He hasn't been asleep long
Outside: nothing but moonlight
And traffic lights.
Inside: Light creeps through from the hallway,
Creeps through the gaps between the door and the frame,
Between the door and the floor.
And it isn't just light that creeps through the gaps.
The sounds of smothered sobs
Travel with the light.
He responds to the crying
With the Morse code of
rug-rug-rug-wood-wood-wood-rug-rug-rug
As his bare feet take him out of his room
And down the hallway.
It's Leah.
It's Leah who's crying, not Mamme.
Leah who'd told him to get into bed,
Mamme and Bubbeh would be home soon.
They're gone, they're gone.
I'm so sorry, they're gone.
Gone where? Gone where?
What do you mean?
A whisper: They're dead. They're gone. A terrible wreck.
Dead on arrival. Nothing could be done.
Nothing.
His world becomes nothing.
Nothing but the feeling
Of a pair of hands holding his arms,
Anchoring him; to what, he doesn't know.
What can one cling to when the whole world is gone?
Mamme, who do we say Kaddish for?
Mother.
Father.
Sister.
Brother.
Husband.
Wife.
Daughter.
Son.
I haven't a father, no sister nor brother.
Too young for a husband, wife, daughter, or son.
I only have you, Mamme. I'll say Kaddish for one.