Turandot

a poem mourning Carol Shields

We hear she kept on writing
till the end and so there is a book half
finished. How to manage this?
Of course we want
to read it but, having written
a little ourselves, we wonder
is it wise? Will it stop
at chapter nine or give
out into notes or pearls
unstrung. And if we know
Turandot, there's a caution -- have to believe
Puccini could have pulled it off, wrapped
us in the pull of music, so we wouldn't
come away saying, Nessun Dorma
aside, Calaf is a twit, to forget
Lui the faithful serving girl
who died for him. Perhaps
that's what Puccini had in mind,
the too-late light, the prince
lead to the chop, the curtain drop-
ing like an axe. Turandot, for we who have
no languages, has always seemed a word
for half-completed: the letter unsigned,
the head half turning. We are continents
but cannot complete
each other -- I am isolate, I
saw a ten year old buried under
Thy Will Be Done -- that hard
surrender.

_____________

On finishing Turnadot.