University of Northern Iowa

Late Spring, Elegy, Early JuneAuthor(s): Martin McGovernSource: The North American Review, Vol. 270, No. 2 (Jun., 1985), p. 53Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25124628 .

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The Woman Who Couldn't Imagine Men

She was now about to draw her last breath.

As chance would have it, the drawing of her last breath coincided with one of the Canon's visits. The staff was

preoccupied with his arrival, although she herself was too concerned with her death to be aware of his booming and

striding in the corridor. She lay alone, drawing the breaths before the final one, feeling her toes twinge slightly as

rigor mortis was trying to set in, and hardly noticing the

rattling in her throat. The Canon, however, had walked much with death

and when he heard the rattling, he knew at once what she was about, and what he must do. Striding manfully into her room, he took from his pocket the Book of Common

Prayer, although the occasion called for a prayer that was far from common. Distracted as she was by the exigencies of her body, she had neither the presence of mind to avert her eyes, nor to withdraw her attention as he stood before her offering Extreme Unction. He stood at the foot of her bed and she gazed and gazed upon him, as if she had been

waiting all her life to receive him thus in her presence. He was clothed entirely in black, save for his white clerical collar. His eyes were coal-black and his hair was sleek and dark and he read from his little black book with the gold lettering. The silence in the corridor was pregnant.

"The Lord is my shepherd," announced the Canon, "I shall not want."

"I am the Resurrection and the Life," cried the Canon.

"Oh Death, where is thy sting?" demanded the Canon, in his authoritative voice, glaring around the room.

"Oh Death where is thy sting?" the question echoed in her mind. And she knew that Death was about to take her away. And she imagined not a wasp, nor a bumble

bee, nor a hornet with a vicious sting. But she knew that Death wore a black suit and a sly look. She knew that he was a man, and that she had seen him and recognized him, and was ready to go with him, wherever he might lead. D

MARTIN McGOVERN

LATE SPRING, ELEGY, EARLY JUNE

Spoon bread, black bread,

my first remembrance of words.

The cherry tree, its slick red planets

revolving under the envy of crows.

My brother and I. My mother

in her pedalpushers, passing around jams.

This season is mostly their season,

these companions, these I took bread with ?

my mother a little to the side,

slightly abstracted, my brother on the grass,

playing in rhythm with the tree chimes

in a language half his own making.

The lilac bush, branches pillowed

against brick. My mother clipped lilac stems

and flayed the ends into shapes of horns,

tamped those thin veins firmly down

to tame the green reeds into sound ?

bugle, flugelhorn, flute.

Rain-weighted lilac, blue congregation. How many years, and my mother locks the door,

my brother, darker, on the porch,

naked, his work clothes balled up in his hands.

Bread of light. Bread of confusion.

So alone a single word could break him.

THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW/June 1985 53

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