ELEGY Poem: Eulogy for a Poet, by Lourdes Silva

In Loving Memory of Patrick Ewing (died August 8th, 2012, age 34)

I don’t want to romanticize any of this,
make it about poetry,
as if he only dreamed in verse
like the way language learners mouth their first syllables
deep in REM.

I still remember that writing workshop where my poem snapped
him in half, like a schoolhouse pencil:

July 17, 2008

My mother died today
July 17, 1997….

It was stupid for my sister and me to leave
her side an hour ago
when she struggled to breathe
even a cupful of air.

The blue in his eyes dimmed
red sadness filled in its place.
I continued to read the poem
the blue fading even further like dusk.
Before the last word could break me
I left the room to cry for my mother.

I didn’t see him leave that day.
He said he dropped to the ground outside
the workshop and did push-ups
blood coursing through his muscles
heart beats out of whack
desperate to feel anything but this.
He never told me why
he had to make the pain stop that day.

For my own sadness, I need to romanticize this part:

I want to believe that he dreamed in verse
when he pulled the sweaty trigger
words filled the soft wound, overflowing,
falling,
to the ground like roses.
words large as caterpillars
metamorphosed into butterflies
words small as ants
carrying away
the ghosts of his past.