Amen Najen

in memoriam

August 3, 2004.

Amen Najen; the opening

and the closing of eyes forever

by Iris Moulton

I.

And oh to the hands

reaching in doorways

not allowed to grip.

And oh to the hands

from one other side to

the other other and to

the mourners walking

steadily on.

To the rain and the

water and the rivers

leading home; to the

sun and the mirrors

and all the bleeding roads.

To the song of metal’s last breath

and a silent knowing slicing

chaos into peace.

To the pieces and the

pieces and the pieces and

the whole. To the

void finding slumber

behind screaming walls. To the

void making rain on the

front yards of America. To the

void talking fashion over

the shrieking urgency of

youth. To the void walking in

and out of pink-doored houses.

To the void dancing free

on empty-spotlight ballet

stages. To the void climbing

into empty beds for one

more always rest. To the after

and before speaking with one mouth.

For the ever. Listening.

II.

Birthmark continent and

pairs of feet walking

through summers on shaky

ground. Get-away-cars

charged and good to get

going running and ringing

suburban bells to wake

the sleeping. Half-naked

nights spent exposed and

half-waiting for some happening

to get to it.

And on the wall a clock is

throwing seconds away

while knowing too much. On

the wall a clock is ticking

rationed time away. On the

wall a clock is murdering

moments; color changes

grey and slowly turns to

ash in the corner of a

crowded room.

III.

The sunset is a thousand

colors of gold as her

head touches the

pillow. The sky is singing a thousand

blues when her eyes shut.

Dreams turn the color

of gone as she wakes

for the last time to last

for ever.

IV.

And oh her hands as they

reach through the doorway

greeted by the absence of

others. And oh the hands left

praying in doorways; solemn

pyramids that will not

guide those passing by.

Hands that won’t stop singing.

Fingers that won’t

touch, arms that won’t hold,

minds that will never know

the instant aging of a thousand

years in that second of

ultimate loneliness. A lifetime

lived complete in the time

it takes to mouth

“good-bye.”

V.

Streets are dark and dry now. Eyes

are opening with your closing

and vows are speaking softly to wed

the sky. Join with something.

So desperate to commune we

can be found holding the

ground– belly down– and weeping.

So tongueless and hollow-cheeked

we speak in stunned silences [or]

memories are the only language left.

Mothers are standing in doorways.

Green ribbons are tied

like the holding of hands.

Green ribbons are tied

like the holding of hands through

doorways.

original poem c. Iris Moulton 2004

first appeared in where the echoes go