Friday, October 27, 2017

For Michael Grover

Reading his words
Had to take a break
Make some instant coffee

Coffee too hot to drink
Cooling next to me
I intend no disrespect

His poetry slaps me in the face
Like cold water
Like cool death

My mother’s hands were cold when I touched them
Her friends wanted to pull the sheet over her face
Hospice worker came in and said we don’t like to hide death and I agree with her

Covering my mother’s face wasn’t out of respect, but instead was a way, I guess, for her friends to try and pretend she wasn’t gone
I pulled the white sheet back down and looked at my mom in all her beauty and grace
She was like a chain link fence feeling the sun on her autumnal cheeks for the first time

Studying Michael’s words
Looked up Cherie Bullock
Read and very much enjoyed her poem “Carbon Dated”

Michael Grover I desire to sit in a tiny room with you, both of us writing what we believe is the next great American novel
Fuck I’m not a novelist and I’m guessing neither are you
The space heater lashes out at us with forked tongue and Grimm eyebrows

Charles Cicirella

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