Three ways to die, Joan Fleming

In Joan Fleming, poetry on July 26, 2011 at 5:57 am


The first way is the quiet way. They hardly even notice. At the kitchen table, during a pause in a conversation about the weather, they think they hear something shift against the house. Wind, maybe.

The second way is the usual. Many voices, many sobs. Black collars, heavy hymns, dahlias made of silk.

The third way is the best. It leaves behind a trail of electric causes that crackle on the driveway, like summer sparklers, lighting up the myrtle, the buxus, the box hedge.

  1. superb poem! made me smile a lot!

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