It's just poetry, it won't bite

The Day and the Hour


08.20.14 Posted in today's words by

Fredric Koeppel’s most recent publications were poems in The Iowa Review and Many Mountains Moving. He is a freelance journalist specializing in arts and culture. he lives in Memphis and writes the wine review blog BiggerThanYourHead.

The Day and the Hour
By Fredric Koeppel

Someone comes to tell you the day and the hour
of your death. He sits in a chair and brushes
the dust of the road from his hat. You get him
a glass of cold water from the kitchen; he closes
his eyes as he drinks, slowly, beholden. He leans

forward and whispers a few words into your ear
and then turns toward the door. He stands on
the porch, looking out at the distance. Clouds
fill the hills with purple scrim, and he wonders
which will find him first, the rain or the fall of night.

 



One Response to “The Day and the Hour”

  1. Peter Ceren says:

    At this age I have lost some close friends who were my age or younger. I understand that visitor who comes in unguarded moments quietly. I love your image and the efficient non-emotional communication of the whisper. The lack of hurry to his next appointment and detachment is great – but mostly the lack of focus on the one who gets the news of mortality. Nice.

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