Thursday, 15 September 2011

Poem: Breaking News


Not all unidentified flying objects
come from outer space.

The one I saw was in my mind’s eye,
hovering just over my right temple:
there … yes, up there …  just to the right.

A long shape:
red on one end and black on the other,
threatening  fire and darkness.
It was your name –
first name was the red, last name was the black.

I couldn’t see you or imagine you – just your name without words.
Just red and black.
And though it said nothing, it was a loud shape.

After a few days, I realized such objects don’t exist.
After a few days, I remembered where I was
when I heard you'd died: 
in the office chair, by the computer,

Then  a voice saying,
 “ Oh … oh … I think she’d like to talk to you.”

I turned.

It was the black phone handed to me –
from above  to the right, and
the searing words I had to ask to hear twice:

“Your first name (red)
Your last name (black)
died yesterday and
I thought you might not know.”


Lorna Harris  (October 19, 2010)




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