Every Time We Say Goodbye by James Cushing

No situation presents itself,
No smell of stone or water. Here the snow
Lies covered by weeds, and in the distance lies
The cloud from which I speak to you again
Although I’m scared by the present-tenseness
Of the air around your name. After the end
Of the world, you still seem capable of speech
And motion. No questions, you said, no questions,
But every day something old and neat flies south,
Rain beading its wings like falling stars.
I remember watching you assemble a bouquet.
I remember putting my ear to it,
When alone, in hopes it would answer me, and how
Concerned I was when I found it remained silent.
And all I have tonight are a hundred endings,
Old men creaking in folding metal chairs.

From: Feinstein, Sascha and Komunyakaa, Yusef (eds.), The Second Set: The Jazz Poetry Anthology, Volume 2, 1991, Indiana University Press: Bloomington, Indianapolis, p. 37.

Date: 1996

By: James Cushing (1953- )


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: