A warning to listeners that today's poem includes imagery related to death.
Welcome to Poetically Yours. Poetically Yours showcases poems by northern Illinois poets. This week’s featured poet is Constance Kuntz.
Kuntz is a playwright and the creative director for Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago. She’s currently writing a new play entirely in haiku poetry about surviving Jeffrey Epstein.
Here’s her poem "about the type (an imagined poetic goodbye between renee and becca good)"
at the end of your life
amidst piercing screams
and screeching whistle
your soul whispers to mine
read to me
you ask me to read aloud
from our favorite book
now? i ask
now, you whisper
time freezes -
it is still
in the snow
that coats our streets
and lines our trees
the screams, the whistles, the honks -
briefly silenced
by the ice, by ice
that noise - you say -
belongs to someone else -
not us
we take turns
reading to each other
until you say -
softly -
just you now
when I get to the end
you smile -
tell me to keep reading -
even the part about the type?
the type - you say
is the best part -
bembo - i say -
it’s bembo
big boy shoots
horns honk
people swear
whistles blow
but you smile
bembo?
somehow
we are laughing
i breathe in your soul
as you whisper mischief
about your favorite font
***
i swear everything
was your favorite
you found
the good in everything,
every one
even me
the moon to your sun
and i swear
they find
the bad in everything
every one
especially us
the moon and the sun
***
they pierced your perfect body
with bullets
they tried to stain your luminosity
with your own blood
but your brightness
holds me
for a few shining seconds -
i’m more in love
with you than ever
i try to trick myself
into believing you’re back -
that we have more time -
but you whisper good bye
i say no! it’s just good night!
i tell you to rest your head on the pillow
the one with your favorite pillowcase,
the one with the roses on it - we rest
and our silly dog snuggles between us
safe and happy
***
blaring whistles
wake me up from my foolish daydream
and i remember
it isn’t a pillow
it’s an airbag
and those aren’t roses
that is your blood
and our dog isn’t snuggling
he’s nosing your body -
trying to wake you up
your soul insists
keep reading
bembo - i say -
is a serif typeface,
named after the poet
pietro bembo...
a gasp
a breath
a tiny laugh
what could possibly be so funny
you smile and say nothing
and disappear
good bye
