1989

I wanted to stay, although it may have been in a lazy sort of half-hearted way... Putting on shoes beneath the garish light, I wipe the sleep from my eyes in vain. Much too tired to fight my mother's insistence that I should come along. I gave little resistance- to this day seems wrong: I fought everything. Something must have changed my mind, and in that young oblivion left him behind to die. Alone, wedged between the door and porcelain. His body lie face down into eternity, denied what he was reaching for. His fisherman's tan turned white- like the underside of the blowfish we caught at the docks; a harrowing sight. I never touched him, not one small part. Only backed away into my trance beside the waterbed, through that strange mid-morning dark. I remember the stillness- the heavy air before I fled. A sliver of light from a tiny window illuminating his frame, the position of his head. The man who slept in strange places, this one being most questionable. Such sorrow for his last embraces, of green shag carpet and gritty tile. No inviting arms, familiar faces. His own I never saw again. Taking an umbrella out into the wet August afternoon, I went to see a friend, after hearing he was gone from the Italian police officer. I only hoped that my trip to the theatre was still on, while those spinning lights took over. I was told that leaving the house before he was taken away was what was best for me, on that ill-fated day: I had found him on my own, there was nothing more to see. Perhaps I should have said farewell to the man beneath the shroud, moving ever far from me in the slowly gathering crowd. Instead, I walked into suburban puddles, forming on the whitewashed Florida sidewalk. Towards the future, as cold as ice, into the thick summer humidity. Unfazed as a stone, and with dramatic dignity. Playing my role for an audience of none, as my last potential for paternal adoption stole away toward the basement of a funeral home, for a brief incineration. As if that familiar form had never really existed. His thick wrists supported the Casio watch- how close I kept it having already stopped. I held on until his scent finally faded from the casing. Along with the memories, slowly erasing- like a dream receding hourly, as certain as the Atlantic waves. Though I will recall that mourning 'till his unfinished life is returned from the depths of that watery grave.

Reviews

[SweetPeachesAlways]

The man who slept in strange places, this one being most questionable. - I LOVE THIS LINE! I CAN'T HELP IT! I DO!
Perhaps I should have said farewell to the man beneath the shroud,
moving ever far from me in the slowly gathering crowd. - Wow, perhaps indeed.
unfazed as a stone - yes, go on...
Playing my role for an audience of none, - truly speechless as I am right now...
Though I will recall that mourning - what a word play morning/mourning, intended or not...

Wow. Wow! WOW! wow. yep, that's all I got...wow. Wow! What a beautiful piece of art you've painted so masterfully! What a tribute...of sorts...wow.

[Arthur Henn]

Speechless! Don't really know what to say. Superb! Thank you for sharing Krista

[Tomás Ó C..]

The shock and emtyness caused by death is well captured here.

[An owl on the moon]

Hauntingly personal. It almost felt as if I was viewing some painful memory that was not quite mine to share. I remembered when my mom passed away and my dad kept asking me what to do... Your last paragraph is so poignant as you speak of your memories "slowly erasing like a dream receding hourly..." Just amazing!

[JC Fox]

A truly sad poem, there is some hope in it, but it was a great poem!

[xXx JakBeNimble xXx]

wonderful poem...
i dont think i have the right words to describe how it feels...
it was wonderful though

[yinseriv]

Krista I was taken back in time by the image of the wristwatch. For me it was 1984. I held on to that watch long after the blood had turned brown and flaked away. You did a great job with a hard subject. Thank you.