The Breathing of the Dead Ear
Twisted knots within holding hands.
What is this instant form?
Smile away Elizabeth. Do not seem happy here!
Not after you explained the ribbon and ring -
Hardened carbon that sixty-two years prior
knew only you.
At this moment you hold younger hands as
systems shut down. Organs find white flags.
Younger hands open doors: code blue halls,
white-coated member mess hall: dark.
Turn my back, nesting and ill,
eyes stone bruised.
Smock and gurney and sutured whole.
The crumbs: once delicate marrow
Now ten fingers
singed in pumice, in dust
on castle wall.
This is the color of water,
the breathing of the dead ear.
I am done.
Float dust to Cerberus.
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Comments about this poem (The Breathing of the Dead Ear by Matthews Welschire )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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