The End
No one knows
what they will
sing at the
end.
I’ll most likely
need a drink
(Cheers, A!), but
since I
won’t know it,
I may not have
time to break open
a bottle I’ve
saved for the
end.
Or, maybe, it won’t
even be a song.
Maybe the time
will come and
there will be no
singing — maybe
it will just be the
pointed intention
of the buying
a sack
of rice and the
giving of it to
the community
pantry next
door.
Perhaps, there will be
a level of
astonishment
as things like
the sun
and the moon
and the sky
make one last
appearance
before saying
goodbye.
Or, maybe, I will
take your hand,
no actual singing,
just my heart
attempting a
note it has
never heard
before,
a color it has
never seen
before,
a poem escaping
from my fingers,
my mind,
my lips,
as the darkness
slips into
our ships,
there,
at the
end.
Image: Jeff Siepman of Unsplash
April 30, 2021
The last poem this
#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 30
For A
and after Mark Strand’s
The End
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/.../the-end-56d2306e43cbd
