Richard Grahn

Pulpit

Darkness. The brush of rough canvas against my cheeks. Hemp tightening around my neck. Do I have any last words?

Ladies and Gentlemen, leering close. Thank you for your attendance on this auspicious occasion. So many friends could not be here today. I am the only one left; you see. Lend your ear; let your minds absorb this song of the dying. 

The scaffolding creaks as the hangman’s weight shifts from foot to foot.

I have lied to myself, cheated myself, stolen time from myself. As I came to believe the lies, I spread the word to others. When it came time to give, I was a well-practiced hoarder. With no time for myself, there was nothing left for you—until now. 

Today, we have this moment. Here in the warm afternoon sun, you have all the honesty I never had to give, the generosity I kept to myself, these precious breaths I choose to breathe with you now.

Creak.

Gentle folks, the sun will surely set on my dreams today, so let me share a recent one with you now. 

In this dream, I am lying on a bed of fresh moss—the canopy above rustling and chirping as a doe and fawn approach. The doe stands above me, her eyes soft as mother’s hands tucking me in at night. She begins to hum a lullaby. They kneel beside me and say a prayer; she tells me that one day I will remember her, and when that day comes, I will forgive myself and say a prayer for the one standing beside me—

tonight the town
lit with pale moonlight
amen

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About the Author

Richard Grahn stays busy as the “founding collaborative artist” and “Jack of some trades” at Drifting Sands Haibun and the Drifting Sands – Poet’s Hub.  He has been widely published online and in print. His comprehensive bio and more of his poetry can be found on his Poet’s Hub Page and Blog.

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