Something to Chew On

If death implies life then get started living

you intone, or at least I think that was you

chanting sagely, though in the pale of morning

I’ve forgotten my dream. Heavy from the mood

of the thing not recalled, I heave from black

to the brittle green-grey of before-dawn, leave

the room of regret for a spell best utilized

wisely because penitence piles up like frail leaves

this month, whirling around thirsty heads, dizzying,

decomposing as it spins. Was it really you whispering

across the bends, reeling an incantation, expecting

me to receive and comprehend? Yeah? Join me, then,

in a cup of black coffee and folding the towels,

ruminating, ruminating what’s already been swallowed.

#18 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans!