Little Ending

1935 –

Bowls will receive us,
                                        and sprinkle black scratch in our eyes.
Later, at the great fork on the untouchable road,
It won’t matter where we have become.

Unburdened by prayer, unburdened by any supplication,
Someone will take our hand,
                                                someone will give us refuge,
Circling left or circling right.

Sitting at Night on the Front Porch

I’m here, on the dark porch, restyled in my mother’s chair.
10:45 and no moon.
Below the house, car lights
Swing down, on the canyon floor, to the sea.

In this they resemble us,
Dropping like match flames through the great void
Under our feet.
In this they resemble her, burning and disappearing.

Everyone’s gone
And I’m here, sizing the dark, saving my mother’s seat.

Charles Wright

2017

Poems

Little Ending

More by this poet

Sitting at Night on the Front Porch

Appalachian Book of the Dead IV (audio only)

Grace II (audio only)

Poems

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Little Ending

More by this poet

Sitting at Night on the Front Porch

Appalachian Book of the Dead IV (audio only)

Grace II (audio only)

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