November CommQuote

Communications

by Neal Bowers

Sent in after new ground was taken,

my father ducked from ditch to shell-hole,

unwinding the telephone cable behind him,

a pfc. cast as Mercury, connecting

the gods with the lesser gods.

Funny to think of him trailing

the complex filament of speech,

that man, neither shy nor sullen,

who answered only “Yes,” “No,” “Maybe,”

and never volunteered a private thought.

Standing off with his hands in his pockets

or cupping a cigarette, he seemed to be waiting

with the great rural patience of fields

for whatever might rise pure and nameless

or fall from the sky beyond explanation.

If anyone asked what he was thinking,

he said, “Nothing,” and when he died

he rushed out leaving everything unsaid,

uncoiling a dark line into darkness

down which a familiar silence roars.

from Out of the South (2002: Louisiana State University Press)