poetryrepairshop 04.03:016 Contemporary International Poetry online since 1997 poetryrepairshop 04.03:016 Grieving in Peace c2004 DIANE PAYNE
	DIANE PAYNE Grieving in Peace GRIEVING IN PEACE I prefer to grieve on the floor beneath a table or outside stretched upon the ground. But, well-intentioned friends come with pleas for me to see a counselor and eat dinner at their homes. Begging I do something, anything, not understanding I am tired and need to be inactive. I want to sink beneath the tables, lie in the dirt, drink until morning, and grieve until the loss evolves slowly into a timid strength. Alcohol that is not usually kept in the house because I will impulsively drink every drop, now whispers greetings for me to enter those dangerous zones of long lost spirits. And friends will call and display horror, disgust when asking, "Have you been drinking?" Powerless, they sigh, "Oh no." Never understanding how that despair and wine are so painfully short-lived, nor how comforting it is to let my tears fall while driving along that hard paved road.		AllPosters.com	04.03 013 014 015 016 017 018 019 020 021 022 023 024

poetryrepairshop 04.02:016 Contemporary International Poetry online since 1997 Filling in Last Clues c2004 RICHARD FEIN

RICHARD FEIN Filling in Last Clues The bottom left was unfinished. Usually it was all done in an hour, neatly and in ink. But he never finished high school, for he was the oldest child, and my grandparents could hardly pay the rent, so his wages became dollars per hour instead of A's and B's. He was a cloth cutter, saved, started a business, was called to war, survived, drove a cab, started a new business, eked out a profit, and supported my mother, my sisters and me. He was called Sol, a star in my eyes, but actually short for Solomon, the indeed wise. Even in battle he carried a dictionary, for there were always new words to learn. When I was little, my sisters and I would giggle, when we'd overhear him reciting funny-sounding words. Years later, I also recited some Shakespeare. He'd do the New York Times crossword every evening, a kind of daily devotion. But the bottom left of the last one was unfinished. After those final days I filled in the lower left boxes. It was my prayer of mourning. It took me an entire day, and I used pencil and made many messy erasures. But I wasn't finished. One final clue needed solving. Under the ACROSS column I added this clue– What Solomon was– And under the puzzle boxes I drew more boxes and filled in the answer: S-C-H-O-L-A-R.

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