Arriving Shortly

"Arriving Shortly"

We will shortly be arriving at

                                                                                    Blackburn

Arriving shortly, or maybe Dead-on-Arrival, I wait

for the call that never comes;

the return of a story stolen, the experience denied,

the commitment withheld in doubt or fear or treachery —

                                    . . . mind the gap between the train and platform edge

Arrivals in themselves, how can we know anything but the memory,

                        at best? and the rest

                        as gap and edge

                                    or maybe gasp or groan,

                             and disappearing.

Death arrives but so far as anyone knows no one knows

                                    in the gap

                                                snap, trap

Only survivors grieve — it is not so hard for the dead. Everyone does it.

            But living?

The arrival of limits

                        they say,

                                                death birth,

                                    they escape or blind or cease, extinguish

                        We ignore or . . . maybe stir, awake,

                                    it draws near,

                                    with signs like cirrhosis,

                                                or a song half-remembered, a prayer half-believed

                                                                        a promise half-kept.

            . . . the next stop is 

What it means as our death draws near,

                        how we shall mind the gap that swallows us

                        or our babies,

            unfinished repairs of apology,

                                    interrupted liturgies of love

                        affection in the body beside me,

                                    the memories you keep for me,

            your hand you give to me.

            We will be arriving shortly . . .

            So, teach us, O Lord, to mind the gap, gasp and edge.

Or teach us to fill the day in us, while it is day,

            to sing while we may.

            Or administer the ashen birthmark,

            from dust you were taken.

Arriving shortly . . .