Tonight’s Poem

Closed After Columbus Day

As if I were the sufferer
And not the house. As if
Complexity of diction had
Obscured the facts. My poems
Speak straight to the soul.

One poem “remains, I think,”
Said an esteemed critic
And early admirer, “the most
Unique and powerful piece
Of imagination since Coleridge.”

And yet is there one New
London child reciting it today?
My unbounded hope had been
To make poetry unforgettable,
Not erasable words and me

Along with them, forgotten,
Not that I need to be remembered;
That is, praised, but mentioned
On the tour, I should think,

Yes! And what of my mother.

Who shaped her speech
All silver fine because she
Loved words so? Must men
Be our only remarkable souls?
One reader noted that I am

“A singer with a rare gift,
A true poet, and,” so the reviewer
Continues, “What has
Surprised me is that magazine
Editors have not realized

What an excellent story awaited
Them could they secure a peek
At her home and give the public
An appreciative study of this
Remarkable woman” –

September 8, 1921. And now
A museum that does not honor
Me; that makes no mention of
My Name.

-- Dennis Barone