At the beginning, they say,

the word was birthed.

That may be true.

But at the end,

it says right here,

in the mechanics of life,

at the end of the book,

there fall the appendixes . . .

 

Any encyclopedia will mark

“appendix” a collection of

supplementary material,

usually placed at the end,

after most conclusions close . . .

superfluous . . .

more than you need, excess baggage . . .

still, for which you must pay,

added as if it belongs . . .

but not essential.

 

So, looking at the end,

the finale,

when wrapping things up,

life’s listings are just

another appendix,

catalogues of memories, itemizations,

references of moments

passed by,

not essential, not even significant . . .

especially to those

who are listed parallel,

in the adjacent columns.

 

At the end, they say,

even the word fades away.

My . . . my, my . . .

then what about all these appendixes?