The End is Often Sudden
I read old
postcards from places
I only knew from an atlas
Scraps of paper with lines of poetry
half digested thoughts and bits of songs
play around in my memory
Recollections of paintings
done with a palette knife
on stretched canvases—the look of
“abstract expressionism”
remain on an easel
After so many years I recall
three legged races
whipped jello
too many hot dogs served
on toasted buns
and fireflies caught in jars
I recall a kite flying close
to the sun when the string snapped
and it plunged into the ocean
And then time moved beyond—
A book with chapters
Each chapter adding a layer to the whole
Some of the role players only
live in memories
Others have moved on
and have their own books
where I may play a small role
To begin something
always carries the burden of an ending—
often semi- sweet, other times a relief
I
