When I die it will be in springtime,
trailing all unfinished things behind me
like a newlywed leaving in an old Chrysler.
Charon will be at the wheel.
The water will be calling him,
and he'll fidget with the radio, changing stations.
When I die it will be in springtime.
I've been waiting, as if living in a bus station
for the 3:45 to Omaha.
Time has grown drowsy. Print newspapers fade.
In Florida, ballplayers wear logos and speak Spanish
like my favorite poet, Lorca.
_______
For Word Garden Word List--Wordsworth.
Very clever. Loved the first stanza especially...can just PICTURE all of the unfinished things trailing behild! Also liked "Time has grown drowsy."
ReplyDeleteI love the reference to baseball. The Chrysler, oddly, made me think of my father. He always drove those big 'ol boring off-white nondescript behemoths when we longed for something snazzy and red. Your poetry is so good. It always touches me.
ReplyDeleteLove that repeating line and the beauty of springtime . Great images and references, as usual certainly unique.
ReplyDeleteI love "like a newlywed leaving in an old Chrysler" and the feeling of waiting, like living in a bus station. Unique and just so good.
ReplyDeleteShay I have enjoyed reading your poetry since 2008 ... you are a marvel ~ I love how you delight and surprise with each poem you gift us.
ReplyDeleteI think it was around the same time or so for me as well Helen, and I feel the exact same way!
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DeleteAs always your imagery is in itself to die for!!! Brilliant and utterly beautiful!
Your writing always amazes me. The first stanza is clever, and hooked me right in.
ReplyDeleteThis has such sweetness, and such sadness. I feel as if I've opened a book and found a flower pressed between the pages so long ago the actual memory of why is gone, but the emotional response remains an irresistible tide. Its great simplicity adds to its impact and beauty, as a flower's does. A strong and deep poem, Shay, full of the wash of time and the soft but enduring frailty of the flesh.
ReplyDeleteI love the idea that spring is a time of incomplete things. I think that's quite profound.
ReplyDeleteAh, love how baseball found its way into your poem. So love your opening for the poem.
ReplyDeleteLove the bus to Omaha, and the Lorca ballplayers. Like HW said, just a beautiful balance of humor and beauty. Death as the rebirth of the world.
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