A day without news. Left behind,
last night’s lead story -- a friend’s
untimely death, his son surviving
the head-on two miles from home.
This evening, my near-misses 
an embarrassment of luck 
inherited like wealth. Three times, 
after our father died, my sister  
sent half of his years-hidden stash 
of bonds, CDs, or even cash 
that was never enough for news.
My friend believed the news was 
a woman so beautiful he would 
never tire of her body. 
It was like his love of drinking, 
returning daily to that desire,
sometimes seeking my company
for an evening that extended
toward the blackout of any sort
of news. Maybe that need
is a form of loneliness
that catches in the throat
like a concealed confession
for the disquiet of restraint,
a moment when we are, at least,
in understanding’s vicinity.
Outside, three steep miles of trail    i
descend through forest. Apprehensive,
who wouldn’t reminisce for comfort?
At 20:45, April 18, 1930,
the Wagner on the BBC, 
as scheduled, was interrupted 
for fifteen minutes of news. 
Those listening to the radio
were worried, most likely, about 
financial affairs, the way the world 
was teetering toward another war, 
but they heard “There is no news,” 
and a piano began to play 
as if nothing outside of their lives 
had happened, and they could speak 
to each other softly as the piano 
continued, their living rooms 
the extent of what mattered enough 
to record and repeat, something
like the somber music after 
Kennedy’s assassination, each station 
suddenly gone to cathedral organs, 
bagpipes, and military bands,  
all the instrumental ways
to indicate the news of loss 
in the interlude between death
and its details through the static
of a distant station or the hum
that lives between frequencies.
In 1930, in radio’s community,
every listener was intent upon
the first sign of interruption,
importance loitering outside,    
even as the Wagner returned,
an aria at 21:00 without
the solace of excuses, one 
by one shifting in their chairs
and beginning to whisper 
as a woman cried beautifully 
in song about unrequited desire.