Nancy Jane

Grandma laughing on her deathbed.
Eternity, the quiet one, listening in.

Like moths around an oil lamp we were.
Like ragdolls tucked away in the attic.

In walked a cat with a mouthful of feathers.
(How about that?)

A dark little country store full of gravedigger’s   
     children buying candy.
(That’s how we looked that night.)

The young men pumping gas spoke of his friends:
    the clouds.
It was such a sad story, it made everyone laugh.

A bird called out of a tree, but received no answer.

The beauty of that last moment
Like a red sail on the bay at sunset,

Or like a wheel breaking off a car
And roaming the world on its own.
More Poems by Charles Simic