In case I live forever
I've been building
Libraries, real and
Imaginary, digital
And paper, remembered
And forgotten. Pages
Of the forgotten books
Dog-ear themselves
Or shuffle uneasily
Expecting I'll return
When I've dwindled
And gone to live
In a bottle.
For economy's sake and also because
She dislikes falling bombs Great Aunt Irina
Has taken a room in the small town
Of Kamianka Strumilowa, about twenty miles
Down the River Bug from Lemberg. The local ghosts
Ask for news but she says none of it is good.
Instead, she plays for them on the memory
Of the violin she burned in 1943, just before she died.
Later, child ghosts find pale notes of music
Glittering against the dark leaves.
Pushkin brought a rose and Byron
A heavy, torn cape and Lermentov
Brought the instrument of his death
In a wood case lined with velvet.
Gogol had said he wouldn't come but,
At the last moment, thrust his way in
Holding three faceless coins and an acorn
In a small leather purse.
Osiris, says Sobek, is green
Because he's a corpse but I
Am simply a crocodile.
When I take my turn at being
Lord of the Dead I'll give Ammit
The day off and devour
Unrighteous souls myself.
At some point the Unmoved Mover realized
He wasn't needed but only the idea of Him
And so He left. Other gods sometimes inhabit
His Fortress Illimitable but never for long.
The corporal says our retreat
Will never end because
Those who left before us
Keep extending the road
If I still had my boat, says Osiris,
We could sail across the sky.
Fourteen? Too many. You may have
Six and some of them quite short
Just a few words or perhaps
Only one.
Fortunate, then, that you have
Forgotten what you meant to say.
The Learned Reader tells me that
The god I referred to as Perfectly Useless
May more properly be deemed the god
Of Perfectly Useless Things or,
Possibly, the God of Perfect Uselessness
Who's been missing since the other Forms
Threw him out of Plato's Realm of Ideality.
I found a Perfectly Useless God
Wandering in the Pleasure Quarters
Who promised to never answer my prayers
Or to stand by me in my utmost need
What fine company he was! How I miss him!
Death, who's always fancied himself
Cutting edge, has developed an app
Downloadable on desktops, laptops,
Tablets, phones and intelligent toasters.
It provides news of his doings, playlists
Of his favorite songs and photos
Of him relaxing or hobnobbing with
B-list celebrities. It also has links
To games and a simple drawing program.
It won't kill you, even if you ask nicely.
(For now, Death still makes house calls
Though he's reported to have invested
Substantial sums in a company
Heavily involved in AI development.)
You have birthdays? How is it
That I have never heretofore
Been informed? I suppose, too,
That you follow the discredited
Custom of counting your years
Sequentially? Give it up now;
Be one hundred three this year
Fourteen the next and eleventy-six
Some time after that. Eleventy-six
Sees elaborate ceremonies
And amazing gifts. Also, for some reason,
A crocodile.
