The Poetry Of...
Kenneth P. Gurney...........................................
What Comes After the Afterlife
In the crook of her arm
Delphi holds Uncertainty
to her breast, nourishes her,
gives her a home, tells me
we are parents now.
Delphi owns that content, blissful look
of new mothers after breast feeding.
Most people leave our path
as we near.
Uncomfortable without answers,
our friends join weekly social clubs
with strict rules for membership
and a haphazard following
of their mission statements.
Delphi sets Uncertainty
down for her nap. I read again,
the "History of God."
Lord's Prayer
How foolish we are
to think Jesus will
come down off his cross
and deliver us from ours;
lift that thorny crown
from our heads.
What does suffering
have to do with evil-
nothing.
I whisper comfort and support
into my wife's ear,
as she delivers our baby
into the bright world.
Ellipsis
The man in the tux
with one shoe in his hand
seeks for a step, a stone, or a stick
to scrape the dog shit
off the sole before he gets married.
Tricky shadows
and baggy-less barbarians
visit the church every day-
invidious attrition.
Meanwhile, in the cafe,
Delphi reads tarot
and draws that
dot-dot-dot card
that tells her there is more to come
and it is not yet written.
Later, for Carol, Delphi
interprets the card
as three black holes
sucking the light
of the universe
into Carol's stratified veins.
Delphi puts the cards away.
She is tired, takes my hand,
suggests we head home.
The sun is out, and bells ring
as we cross the doorway
onto the sidewalk. Three
black limousines dot the curb
next to the church.
Delphi pulls me around the corner
out of sight of the white clad bride
as flowers fly into a bright knot
of raucous people.
