|
Michael Thorne
Laughing at death
Tracking the conversation,
the running banter of
who is going to die first.
“Will I be around for
your ninetieth?”
“More importantly,
will I be around for
yours?!”
Faces creased with
genuine mirth, the
thought of it. Eyes
forced closed by
smiling mouths.
I’m here with my youth,
You’re there with yours
and though I can’t
make that leap,
your eyes are still closed
so I don’t have to.
Matisse in the
toilet
I
try to breathe in
the still life,
to jump from my scene
to that,
sitting in the toilet
with my reflection staring back.
I
try to imagine the smell
of the flowers, paint or coffee
as he sat and worked.
I
try to hover in one of his
moments of inspiration
and think of him sitting back
for a second of awe,
a
shudder of clarity.
But I get stuck between
the painting and the flowers
between the still and the life.
Page Up -
Poems |
