As I Turned, a poem


        As I turned to hold you
        Under a black sun
        Whose gloom blanketed us
        With the weight of death
      
        I still heard your sweet breath
        Still smelled your hair and
        Sucked into me your scent
        To keep us as one
      
        I still felt your side’s sway
        The wisps of hair which
        I pressed to one last time
        One last memory
      
        As I turned to hold you
        You were not yet gone
        But you had no way to say
        You still felt my warmth

First published in in EpiphanyMag, Poetry No. 17

2 responses to “As I Turned, a poem”

  1. Carolivia Herron Avatar
    Carolivia Herron

    Dear Bruce, I particularly like the way the last lines contradict themselves. The protagonist states that the dying one has no way of conveying sensibility of the speaker’s warmth, but the tender precision of the words, especially the speaker’s knowledge that “you were not yet gone,” conveys the belief that the dying one is indeed expressing awareness and thanksgiving for the speaker’s warmth.

    Reply
    1. brucejberger Avatar
      brucejberger

      Thank you, Carolivia. That’s one of my favorite poems. Bruce

      Reply

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