Summer 2007

From The Last 4 Things
Kate Greenstreet

i
They’re taking the boats out of the water.
The sound of time passing the old notes.

Rereading our old mail, a place
to be remembered.

And if my brother
should call to me?


ii
The world was ending, and everybody knew.
We lined up to say goodbye.

I saw some people out on the bridges.

One guy said don’t worry—when it comes,
there’ll be nothing left.


iii
In calling, get ready.

Dear, there is a bridge between the middle and the end.
Designed by winds,
caused to flex.

Fate includes both falling to another
level, as in falling from windows,
stairs, or ladders,
and same level falls such as slipping
or stumbling.

But remember when I asked if you were carrying an umbrella
and I asked you what you felt and I think there was a blind
person, sitting near you.
It’s very strange
not to be writing,

not even to be drawn to it.
A lot of time
just at the piano,
an old upright that came with the house.
Just some old pieces I knew once, but I feel it quickens me.

Some keys don’t strike fully and the surfaces are curling.
They don’t use ivory anymore.
Dreamed of you this morning.

Am still hoping to see you.