By Mark Saba
Three of my books lie unopened.
My wife lies absently on the couch
gone to a digital novel world.
A fire heaves in its designated hearth.
I am in and out of it,
in and out of my thoughts
as my body grows older.
Lacking the courage to write them down
I flounder in semi-sleep
remembering the title of a news article
proclaiming the latest discovery: that
in our universe, present and future occur
simultaneously. I think about
the poems I’ve written, love letters,
fiction. It all comes back to me
yet future plans delete them
from my list of accomplishments.
There is too much death on the horizon,
a triumphant tabula rasa that will have
the final say, that I will remember
even when nothing is written.
Mark Saba has been writing fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction for 40 years. His book publications include four works of fiction and three of poetry, most recently Two Novellas: A Luke of All Ages / Fire and Ice (fiction), Calling the Names (poetry) and Ghost Tracks (stories about Pittsburgh, where he grew up). His work has appeared widely in literary magazines around the U.S. and abroad. He is also a painter and works as a medical illustrator at Yale University. Please see marksabawriter.com.