Comments about Margaret Hasse
Going On Alone In The Great Conversation
Mother, you used to say that old was
just going on, no special feeling,
except of surprise.
You said that dead was
a great conversation continued.
With the stars? I wondered.
With the living? With dreamers taken up
in sex or death?
Mother, the last time I saw you was last night
though you have been dead thirty years.
Like fire in a paper, your face flamed,
each line and hair, both lips and hands
coveted in their sweet perfection.
Your only fault: you didn’t stay
long enough. I want to talk with you.
With luck, your hands would pet my ...