Magazine November 11, 2019, Issue

Crossing into November

(Maxim Shemetov/Reuters)

They can’t leave us alone,
From urn and grave, meddling
In our afterlives, the parents
Of our old catastrophe.
Unbothered by the windshield’s glare,
The light’s leveling at our eyes,
They watch us through our blind spots.
The saints do not approach.
In other space, they stand,
Alert to their perspective.
We’d pray for help unless
They think a shade’s a help,
Skimming its half-formed hands
Against the rush of gelid light.

Novelist and critic Lee Oser teaches English at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts.

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