CLOSE WINDOW

Naming


Here in the middle of my life
I suddenly need to know the songs
of birds, the name of each tree,
the history of all those things
that share my world
like that bird with a purple head
singing its heart out on the telephone
wire. No wonder my mother wanted
to stay in the world so much,
she knew those tunes, those names.
The only thing she couldn’t name
was dying. In lieu of conversation
at the end I read to her, The Death
Of the Hired Man, White Owl Flies
Into and Out of the Field.
We could laugh or weep,
but we could not speak
as if words might cause her life
to leak from her mouth and drift
away too soon, as if a daughter’s voice
might fail her, as if the squirrel
outside her window who hung
upside down and chewed holes
in the squirrel-proof feeder
could anchor her more firmly
to this world.

Susan Lefler
accepted for publication in Main St. Rag Summer 2006