Still Life: The Jordan Sonnets
Still Life: The Jordan Sonnets
I shall not hear the city sirens
But I will see a young boy, laying prone
In the midst of powerless environs
And we, who waited, feeble flesh and bone
I shall never hear a creature wailing
But I will see his father on his knees
Mad with grief, and cowed by human failing
With Gods and thieves stone deaf to hear his pleas
In that dark nether world my soul will mourn
Exchanging magic for humility
That we are not invincible, but born
Of anatomical fragility
Of all the things most incongruous wild:
Shock-sudden death, and anyone’s small child
II.
All that goes into creating a breathAn opus, a spell, or legerdemainDoes not the same escort us unto death?The random gifts of grace, as much as painThen did the angels whisper, at his birthPredilect his father, begging rescueFrom insufficient time upon this earthYoung son lain unconscious on the fescueThe butterfly my daughter could not saveShe brought me, stiff of wing, pronouncing deadCradled reverently, then made a grave“Sweet Butterfly” was all the headstone saidBlessings on the fledgling souls we cherishedThe boy and the Mourning Cloak have perished -H.P.Hart, 7.10.12
