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View Diary: Books That Changed My Life--What Is Your Favorite Poem About Death? (94 comments)

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  •  How about grief? (8+ / 0-)

          Matthew Dickman

    I’m always the king of something. Ruined or celebrated,
    newly crowned, or just beheaded. King of the shady grass
    and king of the dirty sheets. I sit in the middle
    of the room in December
    with the windows open, five pills and a razor. My life long
    secret. My killing power and my staying
    power. When the erection fails, when the car almost hits
    the divider, I’m king. I wave my hand over
    the ants bubbling out of the sidewalk and make them all knights,
    I sit at the dinner table and look into the deep
    dark eyes of my television, my people. I tell them the kingdom
    will be remembered in dreams of gold. I tell them
    what was lost will be found. So I put on my black-white
    checkered Vans, the exact pair of shoes
    my older brother wore when he was still a citizen in the world,
    and I go out, I go out into the street
    with my map of the dead and look for him,
    for the X he is,
    so I can put the sceptre back in his hands, take the red
    cloak from my shoulders and put it around his, lift the crown
    from my head and fit it just above his eyebrows,
    so I can get down on one knee, on both
    knees, and lower my face and whisper my lord, my master, my king.

    published in The New Yorker, November 1, 2010

    This was published a few years after my sister died and it hit me like a brick.  I couldn't stop crying.  It still makes me tear up.  

    It's the Supreme Court, stupid!

    by Radiowalla on Fri Sep 06, 2013 at 07:49:24 AM PDT

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