Transfiguration
(after Trakl)
When the long day is done,
an applause of thunder rolls down from heaven.
Fountains stop breathing and
small birds drop from the sky.
Dreams run down alleys of night
as your father catches you before sleep.
If you were already old
and suffering were not a required habit,
you’d know how your hands
make a perfect house to pray in.
With no need to complain,
you’d rush forward with abandonment
and the enthusiasm of a saint.
Cemeteries are taking reservations.
Theaters of the dead are filled
with one-act plays and actors who
never rehearse their lines.
You mustn’t appear terribly anxious.
We’ll wait for you.
Our gray mouths speak your name
and dark songs answer every objection.
Robin Shepard edits an award-winning Studebaker car club newsletter and is still trying to get the old band back together. His work has recently appeared in Flash Boulevard, Friday Flash Fiction, Dog Throat Journal, and MacQueen's Quinterly.
(after Trakl)
When the long day is done,
an applause of thunder rolls down from heaven.
Fountains stop breathing and
small birds drop from the sky.
Dreams run down alleys of night
as your father catches you before sleep.
If you were already old
and suffering were not a required habit,
you’d know how your hands
make a perfect house to pray in.
With no need to complain,
you’d rush forward with abandonment
and the enthusiasm of a saint.
Cemeteries are taking reservations.
Theaters of the dead are filled
with one-act plays and actors who
never rehearse their lines.
You mustn’t appear terribly anxious.
We’ll wait for you.
Our gray mouths speak your name
and dark songs answer every objection.
Robin Shepard edits an award-winning Studebaker car club newsletter and is still trying to get the old band back together. His work has recently appeared in Flash Boulevard, Friday Flash Fiction, Dog Throat Journal, and MacQueen's Quinterly.
