Lethe

When they shut the door

shut the door for the very

last time

with no coin in his mouth he stood

and felt the cold course along the dry, sallow

skin of his bare back.

All around

All around the shuffling, shuffling

of bare feet on icy stone and

a cry in the dark black

far off

of joy or terror he could not say.

Down the slope to slip,

to slip naked

into black waters

the pilgrims

all of them teeth a-chatter gave

a host of sighs and a high holler

as the water enveloped one

then another

another bare white head

swallowed.

He holds

holds

himself about the waist

as the waters rise up and up

from ankle, to knee, to thigh to

groin and the shock, the shock of it.

They all begin to swim, to swim

those that can

and churn to sink those than can’t

to be

kicked, kicked and mashed down below

among the weeds and shattered bones.

He swims

he kicks and

he aches,

he aches to feel the sun

and the ardor of living

again.

Until out of breath he drinks

he drinks and forgets the far shore

and the warmth

and the pain of remembering

all is solace

even

cold water

lapping, lapping.