Condolence Book
I’m sorry for your loss. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.
I’m sorry I lost my manners that night we were drinking
in Maine. Your whole family is in my thoughts,
especially that little nymphet with the rust and stardust
eyes. It was a terrible shock to learn
that you ran off with the Prussian Railway conductor.
I’m sorry about that bit about the nymphet. I’m sorry
about the lightning storms and the bison and the scorched
shadows like handprints on the earth.
I’m sorry that land art never looks as good as it does in books.
I’ll always remember how generous he was.
I’m deeply sorry for your generosity.
I feel so lucky to have stood on your eyelids.
I feel so lucky to have known Nazi maidens
on the leafy boulevards of Berlin.
I’m sorry I sketched you in gunpowder and set you ablaze.
I’m sorry about the dead orchard and the lost road.
I’m sorry the pill house is closed.
I’m sorry I didn’t get off on your ten syllable lines.
She always had a quiet strength.
She always knew how to make me laugh.
It was a terrible shock to learn
that you don’t like Fig Newtons
or Paul Éluard
or the deep meditation of moving images.
I’m sorry for your loss.
I’ll always remember the way
you said ouroboros
and how I sewed my mouth shut
one tooth at a time.
Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. Recent publications include The Bulb Region, Trampoline, The Gorko Gazette, Revolution John, Horror Sleaze Trash, and others. He is the author of the poetry collections Nighttime Logic and Venus at the Arms Fair. He is the editor of Ape House Magazine.
