By: Linda Imbler

Hail to the inexplicable bookkeeper,
who announces that there will be those departing.
She does not give us a boding landslide of names,
only trumpets the unvarying strident alarm,
ear-splitting in its seriousness.

Shrill soprano notes,
removing all silence from the air,
cracking open the sky.
A sound that falls as a superhuman cuff.

Her wise impudence may be felt as displeasing and frightful.
Even so,
we should express our gratitude for her talents,
to she who wears the unsubtle crown of foreshadow,
so that we wake each morning prepared to accept today's losses.


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