Marcia LeBeau

1:43 PM

Anna died this afternoon
Is she unicycling
down Mt. Sunapee
weeping uncontrollably
small hands stroking
my hair, cool air
spinning the smell of
death metallic in my
mouth? They weren’t receptive to our daughters,
Marcia. The workers on Royal Caribbean
Cruise Lines were not receptive to our
daughters. My neighbor’s
smooth mahogany head shiny
with motivation and Anna
laughing she is beating my heart my
mother’s silence heavy and light
lying down tired and aching on top
of the reception counter at One
Liberty Plaza. Call security, the ballet
is too graceful. Call security, my father’s
happiness fell
into a leaf pile many years ago and Anna
called him Meatball, and Jason
sweet Jason, she is not
getting better in one
massive stroke so you
can go to the movies, we must
all get up and line dance right
out of this world.

—from Rattle #26, Winter 2006
Rattle Poetry Prize Honorable Mention