8 September 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 3
Nocturne: Last Words
Smoke from the pipe of our lungs, unreaching, shifting molecules
to air and back
to smoke, will leave us, in the midst of this city, quietly to drown
among our past—
suicide gun blasts through walls, our waiting and heart-stopped nerves
then beginning their stretch like wind-swept ash, gray spores floating
until they're trapped
within the bricks. I've waited too long to call the police or 911,
and yes, always
some regret remains. There was the chorus of cop cars before my own
slowed to a red light
before a speeding SUV would've ripped off my head, cleanly, leaving it
to stare back
at my body in some other dimension with awe, ghostly wonder.
park-bench homicides: they seemed to follow me. I felt the blood
and thought how
I loved you even more, hoped if you were a block behind me
you'd soon stain
your hair with it, chalk-mark my body red instead of white, so rain
could wash it off,
pool it into sidewalks—where we'll be after conflagration and a sky
lit to the first stroke
of dawn, not rosy-fingered, but the blue flash before the body burns,
before the skin turns
to bone, when we'll never know how or who we loved before.
About the author:
Keith Montesano's first book, Ghost Lights, a finalist for the 2008 Orphic Prize, will be published by Dream Horse Press in 2010. Other poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Hayden's Ferry Review, American Literary Review, Third Coast, Ninth Letter, Crab Orchard Review, Another Chicago Magazine, River Styx, Hunger Mountain, and elsewhere. He is currently a PhD Candidate in English at Binghamton University.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Keith Montesano at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 9, No. 3, where "Nocturne: Last Words" ran on September 8, 2009. List other work with these same labels: poetry.