Out of Print

When a long lifetime was ending she woke up
to find all his words
tacked to the crumbling walls,
and all in different languages, none of which she spoke.

They were paper cut-outs,
some sepia, some gold,
some interminably old.
Others light, carefree, new, in a sense —
but like newspaper clippings of Godefroy’s flight,
were dated to long ago.
Some also, were eaten by moths in slow degrees,
she could peer through the holes they left.

The cut-outs were in the shape of children,
airplanes,
hot-air balloons,
books
and roots.
Can you imagine a paper cut-out that looks like a root?
It was the hardest to recognise.

She had collected them herself,
What for? she asked,
and since she was the only one around,
only she could answer.
The only thing one could make with old paper
(she mused,)
is papier mâché
from which to fashion boxes
to house,
undoubtedly,
more scraps.

She finally decided to consult an expert on these things,
Who did not have anything heartening to say.
She put all the scraps together in a neat, orderly manner
and showed them to him,
in order, perhaps, to ascertain their
worth.

All the valuer could come up with was
Madam, this language is out of print.