The Metaphysicist Delivers the Eulogy
It is foolish to mourn the beloved, though each
and every one of us on earth are fools, at once
afraid of and confounded by the universe
that created us. All of us are star stuff.
The beloved’s golden hair is awash in the aura
of the sun. Her blinding beauty captured
behind your eyelids when you shield yourself
from the explosion of corona during eclipse.
Her laugh is still in the song of the meadowlark.
She is endless, matter never being created
nor destroyed. Find her in the pinks and violets
growing even under the darkest canopy of forest.
She is here. Even now, her molecules are in us.
for Andrew Stancek
The poet says, This is for you; buy something warm,
presses enough cash into the homeless man’s small palm
that I wonder if he knows what he’s holding,
if it’s enough to put him in danger. The homeless man
keeps going through the trash outside the fancy restaurant
we’re leaving. The one where I’ll be paying off my meal
for months. He puts a Gatorade bottle, a Rockstar can
into his shopping cart. The policeman says, You can’t do
The homeless man scurries down the street the way I used
to watch roaches scatter when I’d turn on the kitchen lights
in Texas. Why? Why can’t he do that? the poet asks,
his central European accent thick, emotion making his
English stick in his mouth. The trash here is private
the cop says. His job, to keep the homeless out of sight, away
from the glitzy lights of L.A. Live. I want to tell the poet
that what he did was lovely, right. But my voice is a trapped
animal that can’t crawl out my throat. The poet folds his long
body into the cab, where we all feel him quake with quiet rage.
Shaindel Beers is the author of two full-length poetry
collections, A Brief History of Time (2009) and The Children’s
War and Other Poems (2013), both from Salt Publishing. She
serves as Poetry Editor of Contrary Magazine and teaches at Blue
Mountain Community College in Pendleton, Oregon. Learn more at