Why does the collection of my dead always come back now,
some places still a glorious blend of yellows and reds, others j
just black trunks and empty limbs in the last November rain, just on
the edge of snow?
“Howya doin’, Hughie?”
Bespeckled, swollen-legged, practical black-shoed Gram, or
mon mere, “Will you please pass the sugar,” making
it sound like “Fire!,” mon pere, Mr. Double-Belly,sucking
on a cigarette or (special occasions) cigar, turkey all over
the tables in my brain, and trees going up, wreathes, Bless
me, Father, for I have, God rest you merry gentlemen…wanting
Mary Joan and Shirley and Guiliana and Patricia and Dolores
and Shirley all back,Lynn coming in the midnight door to
spend the night in my high-heaven hallucinogenic dreams,
the Chicago-LA-NYC-Boston-Paris-BC streets
and desire sun-shining, moon-shining over me twenty four
hours a day.

One Response to “LAST LEAVES by Hugh Fox”

  1. Fox was born in Chicago in 1932, was immersed in violin, piano, musical composition, opera, ballet, painting, ceramics during his whole childhood, when he was getting his Ph.D. in American Literature from the U. of Illinois in the 1950’s, he met and married Lucia Ungaro de Zevallos from Lima, Peru, and that marriage changed his entire life. She got her degree in Romance Languages and they started going to Peru a couple of times a year, Fox taught (as a Fulbright Scholar) at the Instituto Pedagogico in Caracas for two years, one year in Hermosillo, Mexico, later, after his divorce from Lucia, he taught for two years in Brazil, spent a year as an archaeologist in the Atacama Desert, spent a year studying Latin American Literature at the U. of Buenos Aires….became totally hispanized, and then married a Brazilian M.D. 30 years ago, goes to Brazil a couple of times a year, mostly to the island of Santa Catarina off the southern Brazilian coast…where her family lives. He has 110 books published, the latest THE COLLECTED POETRY OF HUGH FOX (540 pages), published by World Audience in NYC.

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