In Hans Ostrom’s “The Last Place,” a speaker writes what sounds like a note for whoever comes next. The “last place” is the near point—almost here, almost now—where everything that matters to the speaker must matter to someone else. The thought could be anxious, but the tone is calm and generous. The speaker blesses the reader, urges them to look toward their own last place, and reminds them that their eyes and mind are still alive, quick, and liquid, not fixed on doom. At the end, the poem turns that blessing outward: what matters now will always be passed along, from one person to another, from “the one I am” to “the one you are.” It leaves a quiet, tender mood—accepting of endings and trusting in continuance.
The Last Place — Summary
Not long from now nor far from here’s the place where all that matters now, even if it matters then, must matter to somebody else.
To anyone who finds this note: good luck and look ahead to your last place not far, not long from when and where you read this—your eyes, your mind alive and quick and liquid, not concerned with doom.
Ah, bless you on your way to where what matters now must matter to someone besides the one you are, the one I am.