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Consolation

Elizabeth Smither

May 01 2012

1 mins

One line in your email, full of events.

New paragraph, indented line, two-space gap

I could never be a believer in life ending at the grave.

After that you put your signature

 

and a line of crosses meant for kisses

like a war cemetery or barbed wire on a beach

waves break behind, turning white as paper

on which words are flecks.

 

But in your statement, like the rising moon

light seemed to change. You’d said it

and confided your absolute bottom line

a gift like the Maginot Line

 

and, if there was no war, as effective.

Something to hold in the heart. Even if

the Maginot Line fell or was by-passed

and graves in neat rows filled farms

 

instead of animals and inscriptions

instead of flowers bloomed on stone

ordered as lines in a book what

you gave was better than a row of stones.

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