The Edge of Eternity (a poem)

We’re on the edge of eternity,

says the chaplain at the funeral.

He details the death of a teenager,

life screeches to a stop like he fell off

a Mongoose into a black hole in the blacktop.

The man fell off the edge into what?

He doesn’t say, but speaks with confidence

it’s not the eternal blackness my grandmother suggests.

Memories of my uncle:

his ’65 Chevy, pictures of him brazen and brawny

in his fireman’s uniform.

I visualize where he is over that thin red line:

the edge of eternity.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.