On a Theme from Lorca to a Tune by the Keats
by Mark J. Mitchell
Sería el guardian que en la noche de mi tránsito
Prohibier en absolute la entrada a la luna
(It would be the guard who on the night of my death
Would block the entrance absolutely of the moon)
—Federico Garcia Lorca
Casida of the Impossible Hand (The Tamarit Divan)
No one was home the night he died. Unlocked
windows may not invite cats but no moon
could scare them off. No one came up the walk
to edge his door wide. He lay there—no wound
showed on his cold form. Those empty eyes stared
to his left. An old picture—black and white—
he saw that last: A woman’s silvered face.
The man, stiff-backed, at her side. They can’t care
for him now. A breeze down the long hall might
close some cabinet, but this empty night
won’t hear. He’s still under moonlight. Erased.
About the Author
Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Roshi San Francisco, was just published by Norfolk Publishing. Starting from Tu Fu was recently published by Encircle Publications. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian Joan Juster, where he made his marginal living pointing out pretty things. Now, like everyone else, he’s unemployed. He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and two full length collections so far. A meager online presence can be found at facebook.com/MarkJMitchellwriter and his website, mark-j-mitchell.square.site. He sometimes tweets @MarkJMitchellSF.