Here I am questioning when what I want is an answer.
Beg my pardon but the silence is blistering. I want an answer.
What is a compass since you’ve gone? A futile instrument.
It points north and south but never utters a word. I want an answer.
Georgia is named after King George II. Georgia, where you were born.
The house had a veranda. Did you carve your initials? I want an answer.
You said you could live off air and angels. A heavenly menu.
Life held you back. Worse, it held you down. Life! I want an answer.
I’ve been called timid, but I’ll try anything. Am I your convert?
A psychic read my palm. I’m not sure what I heard. I want an answer.
Stars make for tricky navigation. I’ve tried. We ran aground.
And then you sailed off again undeterred. I want an answer
My vessel leaks from all the tears shed by clouds. I don’t look up now.
I uttered every prayer and of nothing I’m assured. I want an answer.
Madness rises to play chess with the universe night after night.
It would help if all that suffering were worth it. I want an answer.
You wanted to be immortal. I, your daughter, a mere mortal.
And yet I may be the who can’t be cured. I want an answer.
Kathryn A. Kopple is a translator and essayist who for many years focused on Latin American Surrealisms. She has also published original works across the spectrum and in different mixtures. She lives and writes in Philadelphia, Pa.
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