Forever Street

Geoffrey Brock

I met my withered mother
- Last night in a fever dream,
         Her overcoat black as topsoil,
         Her hair a bluish gleam.

         At first I didn't know her,
         The years had changed her so:
         Her spine was bent like a comma,
         And every step was slow.

         The concrete slabs of the sidewalk
         Lay broken and askew,
         The roots of the ancient maples
         An unpaid wrecking crew,

         And over the slabs lay a mantle
         Of fallen palmate leaves-
         The bodiless hands of autumn
         With nothing up their sleeves.

         I offered my arm to the woman,
         But she turned to me with scorn:
        "What is it now that brings you
         To the street where you were born?

        "The name of this street is Forever,
         And you haven't lived here for years;
         The bulb in the streetlamp flickers,
         But everything's as it appears."

         Her mouth clicked shut into silence
         Like a fisherman's pocketknife,
         Her face became my daughter's,
         My daughter became my wife,

         And they all sang "Happy Birthday"
         The way Marilyn sang it for Jack,
         And their overcoat fell open,
         And I felt myself fall back.


Whoever she was now kissed me,
Her lips like ice on my own;
I woke from the nightmare sweating-
Burning, freezing, alone.