Page 34 - vera-kilgore-heilig-her-poetry-lives-(2017)-h-morris-williams-and-marie-law-haire

Vera Kilgore Heilig: Her Poetry Lives (2017) H. Morris Williams, Marie Law Haire

Swan Song

Erato is dead. I know, for I was there.

I saw them place her on her pyre,
And lay beside her all her tools:

Rhyme, rhythm, clarity, and the rules of grammar.
They made a haphazard pile of symbolic vacuities

With wads of words, which separately have a meaning,
Stuffed underneath for kindling,

And lit it with a four-letter word

Scratched against the surface of an unfinished sentence.
As the flames leaped up,

Rock groups began a dissonant cacophony,
(Surely not a dirge!)

To which they danced with wild abandon,

Uttering incoherent ejaculations and disjointed phrases.
At the end, they all joined hands to form a circle

And, inexplicably, they said in unison: “Communicate.”
Standing apart, I watched the ghosts of lyric poets

Form an honor guard.

“I, even I, alone am left,” I wailed;
But as the ashes stirred with her departure,

She whispered, “No. Thousands are left
Who have not bowed the knee to obfuscation.”

Thousands? Where were you, O you thousands,
When she died?

30 www.LakeCityHistory.com LCH-UUID: ED745F4E-57ED-4437-80F0-E2F47F5F57AC