A Poem for Aretha Franklin on the Eve of Her Fall in the Bathtub
3rd August 10
What causes waves to crash upon the shore?
When does the noble apple know that the time has come
To take his life-plunge from branch to the arms of Earth?
None but God in her regal heaven knows;
And maybe, too, is it only God who knows what stars aligned
And sent you, soulful queen, in a melodic tumble from upright to porcelain ground.
Perhaps your voice, heavy with golden tone and feeling,
Grew too great for you to support;
Or perhaps your breasticles have grown too great,
And swung too close to gravity.
None but God in her regal heaven knows.
Ashe.
