Monday, April 09, 2007

NaPoWriMo 9

Book Burning

~ for Phebus Etienne

I am reading your poem from a book that’s never been published. Your body is a book with a page ripped out. The story will never make sense again. My first instinct is to burn the book. Burn, baby, burn, I say. Let’s burn all of the books in my house. Words are not good enough today. I want the spines to snap and the pages to furl. Those glossy paperbacks, let their covers ignite into ash into confetti. Let the letters float upward toward heaven. I want you to see this living room bonfire from wherever you are. I am a castaway on an island burning the book of you to keep warm. Here it is, late afternoon, and what I want most is to crawl into the bottom of your poem, the only safe place I can go. But this is all a fiction. You are gone and this is how I grieve.

8 comments:

Catherine said...

This is a very moving tribute to your friend. My condolences on your loss.
In her poem, I really resonated with the part about being pissed off at the seventy year old woman escorting her mother. I wonder if she left a daughter to feel the same thing?

January said...

Thanks Catherine. Unfortunately she did not have children of her own. But I'm taking some comfort that she's with her mother now.

Brian said...

I am sorry for your loss, her words will live on , even as you grieve.

January said...

Thanks Brian.

split ends said...

I am so sorry--from what I can tell from your posts, this is an awful loss for you and for others who knew her. Your poem captures grief over the loss of a friend perfectly--but what a sad thing to hold. I hope your reading and writing and the love of those around you will hold you up during this difficult time.

Jone said...

What a beuatiful tribute to your dear friend. So sorry for your loss. The part of crawling into the bottom of the poem resonated for me.

January said...

Thanks Jone and Split Ends.

pepektheassassin said...

My heart's with you, m'dear.{{Hugs}}

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