Nancy Jane

Grandma laughing on her deathbed. Eternity, the quiet one, listening in. Like moths around an oil lamp we were. Like ragdolls tucked away in the attic. In walked a cat with a mouthful of feathers. (How about that?) A dark little country store full of gravedigger’s children buying candy. (That’s how we looked that night.) The young men pumping gas spoke of his friends: the clouds. It was such a sad story, it made everyone laugh. A bird called out of a tree, but received no answer. The beauty of that last moment Like a red sail on the bay at sunset, Or like a wheel breaking off a car And roaming the world on its own.