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Rat in the Coffin a Four Part PoemRat in the Coffin a Four Part Poemby adminPart One: The Coffin I was buried alive…I think with a~rat And the rat was breathing up all the air— All of the Air!!... And he~crawled on my stomach,— He really was too heavy for me… I had had, a hard time breathing! “Are you going to get me out of here?” I asked,—I asked the rat in English. I lit a match, I then saw his shadow Walking about (he understood English) He was bleeding on me, or I on him (I saw drops of blood on me anyhow). The Rat said to me: he was new in town, And somehow found hisself in my coffin (I think he was lying, so I sensed). I lit another match, saw the shadows Shadows on the walls of the rat God made the rat, I told myself, but— But why put him in my coffin? Why!~? Why not make a different place for him? I was going to kill the rat but said: ‘Let it live, it’s doing me no harm’ and so it was. I remember thinking: now it is (death) And then it wasn’t,—(the rat), then it Wasn’t, and it was (I was alive as was the rat). Then I woke up, and it was raining And I said to myself: ‘The dead Know they are dead’: they harness it Drag it about—neck-yoke it. Part Two: Rat in the Rain Without thunder, the rain rushed, poured All around me,— The rain: there was no warning, it just Just happened all of a sudden,— Wet to the skin—yet I am not sure if If the rain is an illusion of my mind I found a raincoat, held it over my head Above my head, like a roof—: Up and down, like a saw my heart goes Unhurried: like a piston moving in oil— Tireless it pumps, pumps, pumps I look at the grass—its so green, but Why do I not get out of the rain? So I asked myself… I noticed the earth is breathing, breeding Its face is like mine: old, cold with Streams I feel my heart It is still sawing wood into dust. I look at my feet: the rat is back! I squint at the rat, I watch the rat stooping I cover it with my roof like raincoat, The rat says: “…it won’t be long,” – He’s dry anyway…like me, under my roof. The rain stops, the rat doesn’t’ look so Raty anymore: more fumilure, more of, Of a friend you could say—he gives a Gesture: deliberate and composed: He will see me again I know that. I have now lowered my roof, my raincoat, I see the faint silhouette of the rat: I remember him saying: “Before You die you must be vacant of sleep, Ready to awake…” Somehow I think the rat knows me Better than I know myself. And so death is not, and sleep is, and The rat was, and no, is not. But I know this: Once the rain starts, it will all be turned around Again and the rat will be there: and Sleep will be nigh, and death is. And so I must be ready, or I may end up awake Back in that coffin again: so the I am, Will be the I was. Part Three: Buried In a natural hole—the coffin sinks, By its center—as you would expect, Stress being up and down, just look at Any old grave, it sinks down…down, down. Where is the rat? It had rained and stopped again— The river was up now, water can be powerful: Breaks bridges, damns, dikes, houses The rat shows up—at the wake. He has Shaved I think, he looks different, I’d give a dollar to know how that rat got Into this wake unnoticed. His eyes, eyes They are looking at me, he doesn’t look too Raty anymore, not at all, clean shaven… “We have three souls,” the rat says. Not sure How he knows this, but this is what I’m hearing Without listening, “…one for here, one there (And he points at me and himself) And one for scrubbing,” and he smiles. Part Four: Conclusion Scarecrow Source-less as light: hearing without listening, When you are dead, the dead know they are dead You are like a scarecrow in a winter field. People look at you with a pale stare, without Curiosity, perfectly grave, blank: You are at the moment: dry, loose, weightless You start to balloon above everyone— —I can hear only the shuffle and murmur of feet (in the lobby and above). No more pretenses, no more rats, only one Soul now!... and there’s mom. See Dennis web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com |