Finding Truman



Photograph by Irving Penn, 1965



Truman,
are you there? Sometimes I hear
your next drink sloshing in the shaker,
small ice crystals frenzied in their swirl,
both numbing and greasing at once.

An olive, Mr. Capote?

Where does a mind like yours go
when a heart like yours ceases to beat?
If I breathe deeply enough,expanding my nostrils for maximum intake,
will one of the molecules expelled by you
find its way into me?
Will I then be breathing in a little of the Clutters,
a little more of Perry and Dick,
and some of the darkness you carried with you to the end?

Though I don't have 94% recall,
will you bleed through my pen,
creating havoc on my yellow legal pad?
If you could, Truman,
would you prime the pump for me?
Unleash the words clogging
my brain, help them drip and spread
into a pool of wonder on the page.
I'll see your reflection when I gaze upon it,
I promise.
In the meantime, Truman,
I'll continue to lead them
to the altar of you.