Dying
for Peter Liotta
The cat is a bag of broken plates.
The mother an eggshell unsteady
On its saucer. What star is that
By the moon tonight? She would
Not say. The great aunt shattered
By the pickup she puttered in front
Of, helicoptered to a last hour of wires
And tubes. Something shifts
In the sack of life and lights weaken,
Something sharp pokes through.
But you were young enough and nobody
Was ready to see you weakened but you.
Before the burst of flame met
The gas tank an explosive inkling
Of it had already set you alight.
I can never be in the seat beside
You and pull the wheel
Turning the tires from the brick wall,
I can never change your mind
Though you changed mine
But in any loved thing’s last moment
I hear your body turn as it always
Did, away from people and toward
Something in the twilight flying by.
Translations from the English 
So very touching.
Who is/was Peter Liotta?
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Peter was a poet and a ton more. He was in the MFA and MA programs at Cornell when I was an undergrad, and he was a friend and a bit of a mentor to me, though he wouldn’t cop to that. http://www.newportri.com/b36e890c-f83a-11e1-8b3c-001a4bcf887a.html
this is so amazing.
Thank you MK.
Made me gasp. Very moving
Thank you Liz. That photo I took — the sky reminded could have been a painting of yours.
Jeff, what a great elegy for Peter.