At the dinner party, eleven people,
not twelve.
A striking redhead, warmly smiling—
the one whose world had recently halved.
Those of us who didn’t know
wouldn’t have known.
I’m used to death
ringing a bell that won’t stop
singing of loss as love’s
forgotten child—a call to mass
sung down the long corridors
of bone.
The mouth that can hush it
speaks to me
of a love built brick by brick,
circling a great and dangerous fire,
holding that heat
like a hand to the heart
when only ash is left.
Has lips full of secret amens,
stretching a smile beyond
mere courtesy, until it cracks
me open, I who have not
yet travelled that road
or those blurred miles from home.
Night falls before we know it:
death has a thing for a man about
to retire. Like a virus, it jumps
from acquaintance to friend to kin,
no sympathy for women and children.
Taking on mass and weight, given
a name, it terribly crowds a room.
This being human—to matter.
Through our bodies. Past them.
Her smile all I can see
of love’s fierce alchemy—bright
crack of light escaping a closed door.
Another poem from my new chapbook “Irresistible”, available from Finishing Line Press here and from Amazon here
Lynne Burnett 
“The mouth that can hush it speaks to me…” Yes! Isn’t this the gift (or not bane) of the poet? We hear and feel truth behind the not-spoken.
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Absolutely, Stephanie! And I love how your mind works, where it goes, how it so quickly gets to the heart of a matter 😘🙏
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This one strikes hard no matter how many times I read it.
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Thank you, Bob, for feeling how I did when I first went looking for the right words.
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You found them!
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What an excellent poem – from the opening line to “death/ ringing a bell that won’t stop”, and all the images that follow right up to that “closed door”.
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Thank you, VJ! Glad it connected with you on so many levels!
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Line after line I drew breath. As I finished it the first time, whispered to the empty room “wow. holy smokes.” I’m not sure when the last time I used the term holy smokes was. Must have been inspired by the imagery around this unfolding. Deeply insightful Lynne. I love it.
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Chris, a holy cow from you is really special – I know what a discerning eye you have as a poet yourself! Thank you, thank you for such a heartfelt response!
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Chris, I’m laughing because my brain dropped a cow in your smokes but I’m thinking they mean much the same – except of course, as you said, “smokes” is way more relevant to the poem!
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It’s hard to remain detached when life is about attachments.
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So very true, Ken! At least being able to incorporate what and who matters to us, informs and warms us in their absence.
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