21 February 2018

What the E-Mail Said

Vincent van Gogh - Starry Night on the Rhone, 1888


The dreaded words arrived in a brother’s email:
A fight about driving . . . and confusion . . . 
Slurred speech . . . frustration and rage . . . ambulance 
paramedic . . . cops . . . medical center

A dad is furious--no longer free—
and children are tied, too, in tests and calls
and hope, though after all, he’s ninety plus—

It’s not the end, only the beginning
struggle, as if he’s taken Thomas’s
poem to heart and tuned it up again:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.*

And so the light won’t die but strengthen while
gentle stars mingle, ghosts at a party.
A dad is talkative, no longer alone.

Brothers and sisters seek accounts and keys
secreted like chocolate.  Yesterday
the dreaded words arrived in a brother’s email.

Always there is the fight followed by flight
and safety without power and freedom.
Gentle ghosts shelter from rain and storm,
glow bright against the rising of the night.




My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright. 

© 2018 Susan L. Chast



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