EPITAPH

Photo by S. Auberle

EPITAPH FOR LUCIANO

Annie, my ninety-two year old friend,

calls today to tell me she is sad:

Pavarotti died, she says,

I heard him sing, once, at the Lyric

and nearly collapsed...

What better epitaph

could one hope for--we--who write

and paint, dance, make music,

grapple with our small creations

in the shadow of giants like him?

The pure notes of Nessum Dorma

float out my back door

as I water a fledgling rowan tree

struggling to hold on in this dry season.

No more dazzling berries

adorn the great parent tree,

another of its limbs has died this year.

It hurts to think of taking it down

but I would leave the massive trunk

standing, rooted among stones,

so as not to forget--ever--its grace,

its abundant giving,

the towering, gentle strength.

- mimi