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Connie Wanek - After Us

I don't know if we're in the beginning
or in the final stage.
                    -- Tomas Tranströmer

Rain is falling through the roof.
And all that prospered under the sun,
the books that opened in the morning
and closed at night, and all day
turned their pages to the light;

the sketches of boats and strong forearms
and clever faces, and of fields
and barns, and of a bowl of eggs,
and lying across the piano
the silver stick of a flute; everything

invented and imagined,
everything whispered and sung,
all silenced by cold rain.

The sky is the color of gravestones.
The rain tastes like salt, and rises
in the streets like a ruinous tide.
We spoke of millions, of billions of years.
We talked and talked.

Then a drop of rain fell
into the sound hole of the guitar, another
onto the unmade bed. And after us,
the rain will cease or it will go on falling,
even upon itself.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 6133 times | Comments and analysis of After Us by Connie Wanek Comments (18)

After Us - Comments and Information

Poet: Connie Wanek
Poem: After Us
Poem of the Day: Dec 24 2009

Comment 18 of 18, added on December 31st, 2015 at 10:09 PM.
RCGPdSOPIq

ugBWwI

HzjZrdHGBR from United Arab Emirates
Comment 17 of 18, added on December 31st, 2015 at 8:48 PM.
THOWSKMEQNfOmaWQ

IAWKMe

ZbkqOHVUdwrfYUT from Venezuela
Comment 16 of 18, added on November 28th, 2015 at 1:41 AM.
OtKFECUlIEezl

BBS9TQ Really enjoyed this blog post.Thanks Again. Much obliged.

crorkservice from Cyprus

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