Eggshell White
- Eggshell White
After the movie we talk about the movie—
As after a funeral we reminisce over funnyEpisodes of the dead man’s life. Is it artOr articulation that best dignifies finality, Disappointment?
After I relocate my son to his Brooklyn apartmentWith the malfunctioning elevator& clanking A/C I understand he is only barely
Still my boy & infinitely my son.I don’t believe in years but in the heavinessOf manhole covers, the heart-skip panic of redirected traffic.
I want to say my house is empty nowBut my emptiness is my house, with an infinity mortgage,Nearly underwater, upside down,
Curtains sun-faded, carpets traffic-patterned.After work-night dinners my wife & I critiqueImproperly seasoned dishes, the undercooked,What we might do differently
Next time, if there could be a next time.
After the hardware-store clerk asked what colorI wanted to paint my son’s old bedroom—& when I told him ParadoxHe smirked because there are infiniteShades, nearly impossible to match [End Page 642]
Exactly. Once in a while, though, you can get very lucky.
But I settled for neutral eggshell white.
After I pause a half block from my son’s apartmentI look up & witness my boy’s unblemishedLife peering through the transparency of his picture window,Talking on his cell phone—To some girlfriend I suppose,Describing a different future-beauty than the one I see. [End Page 643]
bruce cohen’s poems and essays have appeared in AGNI, The Georgia Review, and Poetry. He has published three volumes of poetry, and a new collection, No Soap, Radio, is forthcoming in 2015. A recipient of an individual artist grant from the Connecticut Office of Culture and Tourism, he is also on the creative writing faculty at the University of Connecticut.
