Keith Langdon Poems
|4.||Lamentations Of A Junior High Teacher||3/1/2006|
|5.||Cold Hors D'Oeuvres||3/3/2006|
|6.||Make This The Year, Lord||12/31/2006|
|7.||Were You The One?||1/30/2007|
|13.||Maddie's Birthday Party||4/19/2007|
|16.||Cricket, Our Cat||4/6/2011|
Comments about Keith Langdon
Two hours and fifteen minutes
from the new year -
my brother died.
A long time coming.
For over a decade his life had diminished.
The list of symptoms had lengthened
like Death’s shopping list,
and we understood that visiting the new year
was unlikely, at best.
(Most only live with it five years, they had said)
So here in the Midwest, as was tradition,
we gathered together
to share leftover Christmas desserts,
listen to fading carols,
and anticipate the dropping of the ball.
And I would occasionally slip away
to call the east coast hospital...
As though alone, I lead without resistance
as we dance to the randomly selected songs
of Johnny Rivers, James Taylor, Don McClean,
Paul Simon, and the Beatles.
I softly sound the familiar phrases -
so foreign to her -
words that draw from me a latent melancholy,
set to music my adult sons only tolerate
when they visit.