17 April 2016

Poem-A-Day #48 : Chauffeur


There are so many words about this - and adding to that pile is useless
                    I remember reaching the rose out towards you as you walked
          the line - it was peach and you took it and smiled into my face

Someone behind you would collect all the hundreds of flowers
                     and place them into a car
          a whole car for flowers

I think about the driver - the person in the suit and hat driving flowers
                    through the streets of Banbury - passed the cross
          naked and ringing in the light of all those faces

This was probably 91 and you were so loved and so shining and perfection
                    unattainable was yours - the woman getting it all
          and then some

It was before revelation - before you sat alone on the bench in India
                    the shock of your red and purple - the so very alone-ness of it
          the breaking down of the metaphor - accident - and not

The first wife - in the tomb - alone and objectified - glowing forth
                    how prophetic and strange
          that life can be both oracle and stasis field

Piles of static collect around this tomb and your own - they mulch
                    I think about my childhood - and I have nothing
          to further the sound of my voice

I don't have comparison - there is no doorway to open here
                   just the hanging moment of child arm and hand reaching
          out - a long stem covered in thorns - pointed like a question

The answer in that car - that will forever be driving away - forever
smelling of too many flowers

Source - Dave Chancellor/Alpha

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