The day after I found out you had died, Bergmann,
I had to be in a multi-media play. I was a boy
who also dies early, in the second act.
In the dark I grasped fitfully
for a prop I had forgot to put there.
It slipped past me to press play on the VCR,
and I thought, Concentrate, concentrate.
Then, Bergmann, do you know what?
In her resurrection scene, I shone a flashlight
on my mother, Hermione’s, face, as she danced sadly
on an otherwise blackened stage,
in a white dress embroidered with gold.
Sadly, because I now played a ghost.
In the dark Hermione collided with a wooden box, dropped
a moment from sight, then rose
again into my light, looking at my face,
where I watched from far away, on a balcony. She rose
and covered skillfully her battered knee’s aching.
The whole time my heart was breaking.