Monthly Archives: December 2010

Cirrus clouds are the thin, whispy clouds. My grandpa was a pilot.

High Cirrus

Once dead can they regret
the dying?
While life remains they
will choose life;
The veil is distant
and opaque–
High cirrus, and today
they’re flying.

–Geoffrey Howes

I found this poem written in a small spiral notebook in my grandfather’s briefcase. There were several versions, with edits and scribbles and revisions. This is the final one. Also written in the notebook are four-digit phone numbers, budget lists with $0.10 cups of coffee and $0.25 packs of cigarettes, notes from The Detroit News, and a chart comparing life insurance policies.

One of my uncles has a childhood memory of my grandpa leaving the house late one evening to go see a man named Robert Frost. Though my grandfather was a writer and an artist, I am not aware of any other poetry he may have composed. Maybe he was inspired the night he saw Frost.

Cirrus clouds are the thin, whispy clouds. My grandpa was a pilot.