On suffering, which is real.
On the mouth that never closes,
the air that dries the mouth.
On the miraculous dying body,
its greens and purples.
On the beauty of hair itself.
On the dazzling toddler:
"Like eggplant," he says,
when you say "Vegetable,"
"Chrysanthemum&quo t; to "Flower."
On his grandmother's suffering, larger
than vanished skyscrapers,
other things too big. For her glory
that goes along with it,
glory of grown children's vigil,
communal fealty, glory
of the body that operates
even as it falls apart, the body
that can no longer even make fever
but nonetheless burns
florid and bright and magnificent
as it dims, as it shrinks,
as it turns to something else.
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Comments about this poem (Autumn Passage by Elizabeth Alexander )
- In the depths of a grim winter (cavatina), Gert Strydom
- TO THE INSOMNIAC, sathya narayana
- Season is unfavorable,, Aftab Alam
- English As My Second Language, Tony Adah
- Without Taking A Breath, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- I wonder if all men long for a girl… (ca.., Gert Strydom
- Is it absurd to fall too deep?, Mark Heathcote
- Kindness Begets Kindness, Tony Adah
- कलेजनि अनजालिनिसिम: दोँसे खन्थाय, Bahadur Basumatary
- Deep Within, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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