Noah Webster’s Last Words
Is it last light? Or first day?
Is it last day? Or feast night?
Does the darkness pooling
like language reconstruct?
Or does morning, pale morning,
fly headfirst into the naked
lead window of autumn?
“The room is growing crepuscular.”
Said Richard Mellon to Andrew,
his younger brother and frequent business partner,
Tag, after calling him over to starched bed.
A game they had played for 5 decades.
“Last tag”, he whispered
with a final breath. His brother remained
IT for 4 years before he died, unable
to pass it along to any kin.
© Richard Weaver
Richard Weaver lives in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor where he volunteers at the Maryland
Book Bank, and acts as the Archivist-at- large for a Jesuit College founded in 1830. He
also acts as a seasonal snow-flake counter, unofficially. Recent poems have appeared in
the Southern Quarterly, Red Eft Review, Gnarled Oak, and Conjunctions. Forthcoming
poems will be appearing in Crack the spine, Steel Toe, Triggerfish, Louisville Review, &