Tilt, Literary Notes

- Historical Legacies - by Richard Fein They claim they'll consecrate new land elsewhere. But the piled tombstones are badly weathered; they'll fracture if moved. The marbles lying here form a culvert for catching rain. The planned new museum will become their cenotaph. Charity Phelps is two hundred eight; two hundred seven were marked by the stone. For the sake of sanity she must have been quickly forgotten. All the small slabs in this plot mark that year's plague. New babies were quickly born. But Charity Phelps existed. Here before me is the inscribed proof, the cuneiform of name, date of birth and death, and the chiseled belief that she became an angel of Go . . . , the rest is badly faded. I'd swipe the marker. But the watchman is earning his salary. I must let her be. The rains will reduce her to jagged rock.
- Deja Vu At The Children's Zoo - by Richard Fein Now the earthworm caught in sunlight will smother. The May sun peeks. The clouds part. The rain ends. Blind, it thrashes pointlessly. The skin will dry. The worm will shrivel. But my son has seen it. He points. He grabs my hand. I teach him to make a stretcher out of a leaf, and carry the creature from the concrete path to the zoo pasture, and not be afraid of the grazing sheep. This is what my father taught me years before at this very same zoo. "If not for the fisherman's hook why let it die?" What was told by my father I tell to my son. He asks, "Here daddy, do I put it here?" "No there." Though why there and not here I don't know, but pretend to. Someday he'll realize this. I lead him through the pasture which I've walked twice, once as lamb, and now as uncertain shepherd.

- Historical Legacies -
by Richard Fein

They claim they'll consecrate new land elsewhere.
But the piled tombstones are badly weathered;
they'll fracture if moved.
The marbles lying here form a culvert for catching rain.
The planned new museum will become their cenotaph.

Charity Phelps is two hundred eight;
two hundred seven were marked by the stone.
For the sake of sanity she must have been quickly forgotten.
All the small slabs in this plot mark that year's plague.
New babies were quickly born.

But Charity Phelps existed.
Here before me is the inscribed proof,
the cuneiform of name, date of birth and death,
and the chiseled belief that she became an angel of Go . . . ,
the rest is badly faded.

I'd swipe the marker.
But the watchman is earning his salary.
I must let her be.
The rains will reduce her to jagged rock.

- Deja Vu At The Children's Zoo -
by Richard Fein

Now the earthworm caught in sunlight will smother.
The May sun peeks. The clouds part. The rain ends.
Blind, it thrashes pointlessly.
The skin will dry. The worm will shrivel.
But my son has seen it. He points. He grabs my hand.
I teach him to make a stretcher out of a leaf,
and carry the creature from the concrete path to the zoo pasture,
and not be afraid of the grazing sheep.
This is what my father taught me
years before at this very same zoo.
"If not for the fisherman's hook why let it die?"
What was told by my father I tell to my son.
He asks, "Here daddy, do I put it here?"
"No there." Though why there and not here
I don't know, but pretend to.
Someday he'll realize this.
I lead him through the pasture
which I've walked twice,
once as lamb, and now as uncertain shepherd.