Colm Sends a Poem (13)

Dress

She wore her dress to class

what’s left of me

asked for a spin

the way I would have

back when a dress was an invitation

laid on a table

a cocktail

for the man

I might become

Colm Sends a Poem (12)

Jackets

Crows never die in the road

I’ve watched them from childhood

at a summer funeral in a madras jacket

standing by as his nine year old self

is lowered into place

beside me

a withered father’s questioning face

the gauze of morphine a mask for the gathered

from a window

beside shelved books, final pages unread

a story abandoned without knowing its end

an unused ticket a marker for a chapter she meant to read

a jacket

stolen

while she sleeps on a mattress in the corner of an empty apartment

I wear it to this day

a receipt in the pocket for a meal they shared

Colm Sends a Poem (11)

I continue to spin in advance of the end

heavy headed and unclear

my rankily limbs pulled at the joints

by the power of my turns