EVERYDAY SOME PEOPLE ARE GOING HOME TO SEE WHO IS DYING

by Lyn Lifshin

my graduate school office mate
with her father and grandfather
alone in a big Victorian said,
“I never know who’ll be living,
who’ll be dead when I come
home.” For weeks, small girls
in pink pajamas are dying in
wrecked trail under a heavy
pervert’s garlic stinking breath
or hog tied behind a rusty pick up.
Death shall have dominion Thomas
said but lately it’s the main thing
on TV. The line between the living
and dead keeps moving. What
does it mean when you start to
read the obits? Every morning the
ambulances streak by the park
I walk thru. Someone tells
me “lost at war” is easier to live
with than certainty of death. When
Arthur Miller died, who didn’t
think of Marilyn going before him,
staying beautiful in our minds
as those who linger won’t


*Lyn's website:
http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm