Poem With Its Heart Buried Under the Floorboards by Kathy Fagan

Poem With Its Heart Buried Under the Floorboards

 

You have been frowning a long time now, Mr. Poe.

For a long time grandfathers & their charges have been

walking from the library into days of black & white.

Large cars move funereally under black trees, black

birds; the sky is white, the lawns white where snow

has fallen. In spite of the snow, nothing is beautiful,

& it is always 4 o’clock on a Sunday, post meridiem.

The floor may creak — a cri de coeur —

but outside two teens outpace a white panel truck

climbing uphill in the slush. For a long time

the wheels have been spinning, Mr. Poe.

Our charges do not hear. Nor do they speak,

their earbuds white as snow.

They have some place to get to & they go.