Aught, no. 15 (2006)

rob mclennan

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the complexity
of wisdom

is power enough.
i will not

linger, will not
linger on the death.

she was
in her head

a long time,
& then

wasnt. took out
brain cells & the

bodys ruin, wearing
down & gone

away. like bedsheets
in the will, or

crouched in the tub, i
will not.


the silent message
of private conversations

allude, & keep on
years after the bodys

wake, give out
increments of need

& hearts desire, creeping
out of hindsight

& family photos. gives him
a flower pot, gives her

the war medals gained
from someone older,

whats left of her eighty-seven
down to this,

in boxes, wood
& cardboard.



w/ even greater power
to disturb & amaze,

what lies, the shape
of my uncles jaw, or

grandmothers cheekbone, to
her daughter, deflecting

wind. twelve hands
allude to measures

more than painkillers, sleepless
wedge, lift out

of the casket, & go
ground. let out

& exhale
grief, like a

balloon, shove out
invisible to the air

& migrates, little bits
thru grandchildren, great.



the death of nature
sits, in the

reflective voice, echoes
& then lingers,

still. white sand ripples
in the waters point

& slows, settle
bottom down, become

where once
were separate, the grief

& then the death
of grief, a

page, former, turning, like
dropping names

are droppt.


Copyright 2006, by the author. All rights reserved.
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