Book of short stories,
Published 1927. Passed
To my mother by her father,
Then to me. A receipt from
Some forgotten purchase,
From March 2001,
Marks a page, a short story
"The Last Leaf".
The camera pulls back
From a close-up: one defiant vine
Leaf on a snow swept wall,
A sign of hope to the child, near death,
Who gazes on it from her window
In the new day dawning.
The camera pans down
To the ground below; fallen ladder,
Artists brushes and the figure,
Presumed dead, of the has-been artist beneath his last great work.
Eyes water; sniffles won't stop.
Try to think.
Restored faith in altruism?
Distrust of poets and their power?
It all comes crashing down to this -
Mother, father, self.