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| Indy Week, March 27, 2002 [photo by Alex Maness] |
[First published in The Way the Rain Works (Sable Books, 2015) and republished here by permission of the author.]
Such elegant dry flowers, yellow-brown
and so delicate three years ago, when
I last tasted their good health. I hate
to let them go. I could tangle my mind
in the difficulty of knowing
the next words to tell my son, or let
the solutions arrive like cries of owls
across the dark distance of evening.
At that Spanish restaurant close to
his college, he said things happened
he wished he could forget. I told him
I forget a lot myself. The cleaning lady
has been in our cabinets finding salves
and remedies that are past their dates,
leaving them for us to sort out
by the stove in a plastic grocery bag.
| Copyright © 2018 by Ralph Earle |
Other readers, have you seen the film masterpiece Manchester by the Sea (reviewed by Jonathan Price on December 20, 2016)? To my mind, this poem by Ralph Earle casts the same tragic spell, and does so in the same brilliant, understated way.
ReplyDeleteRalph's work always seems to embody tragedy and joy in a way it is difficult to explain. I have not seen the film, but I definitely will.
ReplyDeleteThanks for making that connection, Morris. I had not noticed it before you mentioned it, but it's there in the relationship and in the blend of joy and sorrow.
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