Colleagues Who Die Poem by Michael Philips
Colleagues Who Die
Colleagues who die
kept in my rolodex
alive in circulation
flipping round in ritual
procession,
propped up by the living.
Looking for someone else
I sometimes encounter one of them
like a lone winter leaf still clinging to a tree
A silent abandoned phone number, a boarded up building
Touch the card like the Vietnam Wall
The name, the title, the unfinished business
A little flag saying I was here.
Michael, Good images in this poem. In the end what is left of us but a name on a card somewhere? ! lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/21/2024 7:05:30 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Yes, this one definately works for me.