Carol L. Gloor is an attorney living in Chicago and Savanna, Illinois. I especially like this poem of hers for its powerful ending, which fittingly uses the legal language of trusts and estates.
At the moment of my mother’s death
I am rinsing frozen chicken.
No vision, no rending
of the temple curtain, only
the soft give of meat.
I had not seen her in four days.
I thought her better,
and the hospital did not call,
so I am fresh from
an office Christmas party,
scotch on my breath
as I answer the phone.
And in one moment all my past acts
Thanks to Chris Heppermann for passing this along to me; Ted is the poet who takes his poems to the office and if the people who work there don’t get them, he revises.
The austerity of this appeals to me. I’m such a chatterbox. It’s also the kind of poem that means what it says. No searching for deeper meanings. Lord, spare me from deeper meanings.
If you want more poems, there are two of mine today at www.culturalweekly.com. One of them is at least 30 years old! Holy cow!!! This is a cool site in general, so drop by now and then.
Ron, this poem says it all. Thanks for adding it to the Storyteller's Inkpot collection.