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Or to Put It Another Way - Poem
Commonweal, Dec 21, 2001 by Jeanne Murray Walker
She is following the voices as I once followed a car in darkness ahead of me, the tail lights like two pieces of red fire smeared on my windshield by rain. I didn't know what I wanted or why, but I was resolute, steering through dangerous curves, swaying like a bundle, mad with the need to catch someone I thought I knew. Or to put it another way, she is like the terrified fawn, head up, standing between the barbed wire and my car, its nose sniffing violently to catch the scent of its mother who fled when she heard the horn, its ears alert as two little sound dishes to catch any twitch in the long tan weeds. What I mean, my mother is leaving us, she has already forgotten us, concentrating on the voices, because it takes concentration to die properly, to find some way to enter all that terrible glory.
COPYRIGHT 2001 Commonweal Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2002 Gale Group
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