A Brief Life

The class was reading
Heaney's 'The Underground.'
"What can you tell me
about line 9?" I asked.

"It's a waltz rhythm," he said,
the only one who noticed.

There's always a prime memory
of those who are dead.

The congregation of parents,
relatives, neighbours, teachers,
classmates, college friends:
all their prime memories,
put them all together
and you might have the great man
he could have been.
Some made him a musician,
others a historian,
a prime minister.

No note, no past history, no hint.
The vicar went for solace,
conducting like a maestro
the puzzled, the bewildered.

No mention of the planning,
the purchase of the rope.

That he'd had the courage to pull out,
not to prolong the battle,
the stalemate -
no mention of that.

You carry on waltzing,

I guess he was saying.

.

Author's Note

A student of mine. He took his own life in his first year at university. Aged 19.

Reviews

[Gee]

That is so sad once read again after reading the authors note.
God only knows why you don't have the many more reads and reviews your writing merits. A bit of a travesty when folk like me who only post simple shite, get more attention.
Good afternoon Gerald

[Gerald Parker]

Thanks for reading this and commenting. I've been up against the lack of interest for years so sometimes I go away for a few months then come back and have another go. I just like to put my poems out there in the hope that someone will get something from them I think people are so used to the quick fix they get on social media that they look for writing they can instantly grasp and respond to, often in social media speak. I notice people only seem to gush with praise and avoid critique in case they lose a "friend." Sorry for sounding bitter. Good evening to you, Gee. I'd never call your poems "shite."

[Gee]

Cheers.....