Here
by John Grey
Other details may make mulch of the mind
but I remember that night most clearly,
fir trees stark against the red sailor's moon,
cats stirred, dogs restless, owls hooting queerly,
and my grandpa who showed no interest
in the next world, by his bedside praying,
and my mute brother, on the veranda,
singing hymns in his head, sweating, swaying,
and a truck stalled on a distant hill-top
while a neighbor's colt kicked and whinnied loud,
and a shadow spread shroud-like across fields
though there wasn't any sign of a cloud,
just a long low hum, succession of beeps,
and a rumble of rock, bed and bier,
on the night giant lanterns lit up the sky,
on the night that they landed here.
© 2008 John Grey
John Grey's latest book is “What Else Is
There” from Main Street Rag. He has been published recently
in Agni, Worcester Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal.
Find more by John Grey in the Author Index.
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