Linda Chase: commended Dare

Let’s talk about death, she said.
You first.

And he began with an oak tree, a glade
a blackbird and rain
then he nodded to her

and she began with ribbons on lapels
scissors and Hebrew prayers
then she nodded to him

and he went on with winter
leaves decaying, breath and emptiness
and he nodded to her

and she went on wanting to tear
her clothing to shreds
then she nodded to him

and he went on staring through branches
trying to count the few leaves left
then he nodded to her

and she went on with the fear of
unravelling threads, looser and looser
and she nodded to him

and he went on standing in the doorway
with the mourner’s book in his hand
and he nodded to her

and she went on with her ripped blouse
hanging from her shoulders, shaking

and he went on with his bare hands open—
as she fell against him he held her up.

Let’s talk about death
she said

and he closed his mouth and arms
and shoulders around her, refusing.

 

 

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