Fall 2007 / Spring 2008

Ashen

by Ernesto Varela

Look warily at those
Who dance by rote
At the ends of things—

The carnival barker grown mute
And morose, daily dour
At the last turnstile grind—

The street cleaners sweeping
Away another's nights revels,
Grimly disposing
Other's festive dross—

The nurse's assistant,
Who'd never known the old man,
And cleans out finally
The left-behind, futile
Get well cards
From Room 604—

The church volunteer,
Who yearly takes the palms,
Once blessed but unclaimed,
Discarded or dropped amid the pews,
And burns them into reminders
Of mortality—
Look
       warily