ALPHABET OF LOVE

Mark Twain’s Cigar

38 The Alphabet of Love MARK TWAIN’S CIGAR Mark Twain’s cigar Glows in winter’s gloom; By a dim light, Ringing the dark side of the moon, He carefully writes, “How poor am I Who was once so rich!” And closes the notebook He will later call his autobiography. Before he climbs into bed He pours a jigger of brandy— Prescribed by the doctor for his heart— And drops slowly off to sleep. In the recurring shadow, Revealing a remarkable dream, Five coffins await him When he descends the stairs And enters the kitchen for breakfast. One by one, he reads the placards Which sit beside the caskets, But they make absolutely no sense; Bending over the open boxes, He finds each is empty, Except for some unrecognizable photographs That mean nothing to him— Strange faces in silent rivers. Bart Edelman 39 Returning home, later that day, He is alarmed to discover The coffins are now cradles And the servants gently rock them, Singing hymns as if they were in church. Angrily, he demands the small beds be removed— Yet then thinks better of it, Realizing the wood can be put to good use; He suggests it be immediately cut And stacked in the carriage house. The servants stare at him in horror, But he can not understand their amazement At such a simple and reasonable request. Mark Twain awakes the next morning, Dressed in yesterday’s clothes, Closely watching the angels Carved in the magnificent headboard He brought back from Europe. Scattered ashes of regret Lie across the oversized bed, His mouth parched and thirsty From the faint taste of tobacco leaves. A half-smoked cigar Rests in his right hand, And he seems quite surprised To find himself alive. ...