11/16/97 (Third November Song)

11/16/97 (Third November Song)

At 5:06 p.m., you first drew the first protesting breath,
Outraged by the sharp slap, the bright lights,
And the indignity:
Dangling wet and naked among strangers.

At 5:18 p.m., I followed curiously to investigate,
And left the warmth, the liquid darkness,
Urged on by your cries:
Our pattern for life in the bright new world.

My best memory of us: pounding down the beach,
Two of Neptune’s colts. We would collapse at last,
Your laughter in my ears as we grappled in the sand.
Hearts slowing, breath returning, you would rise, stretch,
And assume the royal voice, suddenly mock-English,
Fluting out the edict: “We insist on being happy . . . . .”
Then the wink and nudge: “It’s work, but it’s soooooooo worth it!”

I didn’t know those words would be emblazoned on my heart,
Still spurring me on from day to day
Without you . . . .

You were joyous above all things, so I honor your memory:
I insist on being happy.
It’s work . . . .

But in those moments after gritted teeth and tears,
When peace descends
“Sooooooo worth it!”

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c. 2000 Todd Eliot

Muzzle

Muzzle

On paper, the words flow:
Streaming all the colors of me
Full-spectrum as they go
Eddying onward, thrashing into foam
As they collide with something
Beneath the surface - something below,
Where the deep black currents roam
Unstayed by any other thing.

The sunlight's sparkle and gleam
Off rainbow shards of froth
Dazzle-dancing on the stream,
Distracts me from the dark below
With bright-winged flittings to and fro.
I delight in teeming surfaces of things,
And love the darting, sweeping shallows.

In my mind, the images flood:
Lives and times all sinking down
Monochrome as the mud
Slumbering, the black silt compressed
To stone by water and time
While seasons pass above; flowers bud
To bloom and stand undressed
And freeze beneath thick winter rime.

Something, sure, will stir
This darkness, then roil the quiet
Muffled under snow-white fur
Mantling layers of ice above, to show
Some spark of light to glimmer and grow
With the passing of seasons and dance of time
To melt the sluggish quiet here below.

Quick with the words and let me fly, then: I am young,
And nothing hinders nor stays me
As my bright words sail forth on the page --
Till a stranger’s question comes and my mulish tongue
Locks up my lips and betrays me,
And my slumber is broken by rage.

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c. 2000 by Todd Eliot

11/16/97 Fifth November Fragments

11/16/97Fifth November Fragments

RECONSTRUCTION I

Some things we can easily reconstruct
Examining the evidence and facts:
From the one set of tire marks we deduct
The direction and speed of the impact,
From the dry condition of the asphalt
We rule out the weather being to blame
As a factor, nor was there any fault
In the brakes of either crumpled frame.

Blood alcohol levels of the bodies
Clearly demonstrate it was Driver A,
Impaired, who crashed headlong into Car B.
From the positions where the others lay,
We are sure one brother died instantly
Of a massive insult to head and brain,
In the lap of his twin. Mercifully,
We know the other remembers no pain
And was unaware of his sibling's death
Until he woke from unpleasant dreaming
(So he terms his coma), took a deep breath,
Saw his mother's face, and began screaming.

Examining his chart would seem to yield
A hopeful prognosis: he can now talk
(The aphasia was perhaps a mere shield
For the psyche), though he will never walk;
Although we cannot be completely sure
Of no improvement in mobility,
It is likely (because there is no cure)
He will accept his disability.
His mental faculties show not a trace
Of impairment (from this we can deduct
His stammer will improve). His fractured face
May prove more difficult to reconstruct.

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c. 2002 Todd Eliot