Friday, November 20, 2009

Mr. Logan, I am submitting the following three poems for possible inclusion in A Brilliant Record magazine. Please let me know if you need any additional information or if I can answer any questions for you. Thank you, Justin P Lambert

The Wake

Forced conversations in a hushed tone
Awkward laughter, guilty cheer.

“She looks so natural.”
No, she doesn't. Did you know her?
Doesn't this bother anyone else?
We stand around this artificially
darkened room, trying not to
acknowledge why we're here.
“She went peacefully.”
Is that supposed to make me feel
better about her not being here?
She should have fought, tooth and nail!
Why is she there, lying still,
while I'm here, comforting strangers?
“It was her time.”
How dare you? How dare you say
that she deserved this? Or that God
deserves her more than I do!
What kind of God do you believe in?
Not the God I know. Not the God she knew.

Forced conversations in a hushed tone
Whispered questions, shamed ignorance.


I want to believe.
I need to imagine
I can do what you need,
I can be what you want.
Tell me what's right.
Tell me who to be.
We work on these revolving doors
until we're dizzy and sick.
I know there is more.
I know you have wished-
I lost that once.
I never want to lose it again.
Forget about the past.
Forget what I have forgotten.
We ramble in and out of confusion
until we've forgotten everything
except us.


Mind thinning--
Gray and fuzzy flights of recall
dapple harder-won concrete memories
creating shadows from no substance
smoothing sharp contours and carving
tiny holes in what I thought
was my life.

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...