Year’s End
July 6, 2023The Smiles Of The Bathers
July 6, 2023The Upstairs Room
It must have been in March the rug wore through.
Now the day passes and I stare
At warped pine boards my father’s father nailed,
At the twisted grain. Exposed, where emptiness allows,
Are the wormholes of eighty years; four generations’ shoes
Stumble and scrape and fall
To the floor my father stained,
The new blood streaming from his head. The drift
Of autumn fires and a century’s cigars, that gun’s
Magnanimous and brutal smoke, endure.
In March the rug was ragged as the past. The thread
rots like the lives we fasten on. Now it is August,
And the floor is blank, worn smooth,
And, for my life, imperishable.
Weldon Kees
Weldon Kees (1914-1955) was an American poet, novelist, and artist who was associated with the New York School of poets. Kees' poetry often explored themes of urban life and the loneliness of modern society. His most famous works include "The Collected Poems of Weldon Kees" and "The Last Man."