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1 | --- | ||
2 | title: Last passenger | ||
3 | genre: verse | ||
4 | |||
5 | id: last-passenger | ||
6 | toc: "Last passenger" | ||
7 | |||
8 | project: | ||
9 | title: Autocento of the breakfast table | ||
10 | class: autocento | ||
11 | |||
12 | TODO: revise based on reading notes | ||
13 | ... | ||
14 | |||
15 | | Memory works strangely, [spooling its thread][] | ||
16 | | over the [nails of events][] barely related, | ||
17 | | creating finally some picture, if we're | ||
18 | | lucky, of a life---but more likely, it knots | ||
19 | | itself, catches on a nail or in our throats | ||
20 | | that gasp, as it binds our necks, for air. | ||
21 | |||
22 | | An example: today marks one hundred years | ||
23 | | since your namesake, the last living passenger | ||
24 | | pigeon, died in Cincinnati. It also marks | ||
25 | | a year since we last spoke. Although around | ||
26 | | the world, zoos mourn her loss, I'm done | ||
27 | | with you. I mourn no more your voice, the first | ||
28 | | sound I heard outside my body that reached | ||
29 | | [into my throat and set me ringing][]. But that string--- | ||
30 | |||
31 | | memory that feels sometimes more like a tide | ||
32 | | has yoked together, bound your voice to that bird, | ||
33 | | the frozen, stuffed, forgotten pigeon---my heart | ||
34 | | is too easy, but it must do---to blink, to flex | ||
35 | | its unused toes, slowly thaw to the wetness | ||
36 | | of [beating wings][], fly to me again, and alight, | ||
37 | | singing full-throated, on my broken shoulder. | ||
38 | |||
39 | [spooling its thread]: roughgloves.html | ||
40 | [nails of events]: when-im-sorry-i.html | ||
41 | [into my throat and set me ringing]: weplayedthosegamestoo.html | ||
42 | [beating wings]: cold-wind.html | ||