Psalm and Lament by Donald Justice
In memory of my mother (1897-1974)
Hialeah, Florida
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The clocks are sorry, the clocks are very sad.
One stops, one goes on striking the wrong hours.
.
And the grass burns terribly in the sun,
The grass turns yellow secretly at the roots.
.
Now suddenly the yard chairs look empty, the sky looks empty,
The sky looks vast and empty.
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Out on Red Road the traffic continues; everything continues.
Nor does memory sleep; it goes on.
.
Out spring the butterflies of recollection,
And I think that for the first time I understand
.
The beautiful ordinary light of this patio
And even perhaps the dark rich earth of a heart.
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(The bedclothes, they say, had been pulled down.
I will not describe it. I do not want to describe it.
.
No, but the sheets were drenched and twisted.
They were the very handkerchiefs of grief.)
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Let summer come now with its schoolboy trumpets and fountains.
But the years are gone, the years are finally over.
.
And there is only
This long desolation of flower-bordered sidewalks
.
That runs to the corner, turns, and goes on,
That disappears and goes on
.
Into the black oblivion of a neighborhood and a world
Without billboards or yesterdays.
.
Sometimes a sad moon comes and waters the roof tiles.
But the years are gone. There are no more years.
This poem was selected by Rick K. (Children’s Librarian)
