Imogene’s Notebook
On a Gravedigger’s Salary
A poem
I hesitate to call it names
Those names that give fears substance
And sincerity that gives them faces
We see in darkened windows
The worst of them all, illusion—
Of truth without reason
Matter without measure
And restraint
I’ll tell you what is honest—
When no one owns the things you sell
And you drink muddy water
When it’s all you can afford
On a gravedigger’s salary
Look within, a game of Scrabble
With all blank tiles
You write out the lyrics
To a song you used to like
That stuck in your mind
With the other bad stuff
You tried to wash out
With hot soapy water.
Look without —
Swish them around, forget the words
And rinse them, hang them up
To dry on the grid, and be scored
This is nomenclature
The principles of building truth
Letter by letter
And tile by tile
We gave water a name
So we could make…
