after Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s 21 Grams
And what of the dead whose bodies are lighter for the fall?
Think of the lead-up, how the legs sway, the hands grope
for an edge to cling to, the body a rebuke to gravity
which wants its power back, its old apple, . . .
And snow filters the sun, ceiling fans turn warm air down.
The dead may be alive now but know they are here
only for a respite, the parks of paradise too clogged,
the Old Man walking in his own shadow of an evening.
(23 December 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander