Balm For Scars~

~a memorial in memory~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The old man lay against his memories in a bed of soft cotton

shivering

as I placed the glass against his lips;

sometimes I could almost see the blood

pouring

out of the scar on the side of his throat

as he'd dream the past into the bedroom

on nights like these

when the thunderclouds opened their veins

and every sound was the scream of mortars exploding

there

in those flashing lights

his fists against the strobe

and here

I would bend into his milky eyes

uncurl his fingers into my hand

slip white shoes from my feet

stretch youth against his bones

take his mind out of a bunker

into the green spirals of my myth iris

warm color of my lips on his temples

until he saw past the sounds of dying

seeping through from his personal history

which is where he'd returned

to live

on most days

with the onset of strange

neural pulses

that leave their imprint with age

in memory hollows

and pain pressures

 

"Joachim."  I would whisper past the wail of summer storms

past the rain of bullets

touch my palms

one to his cheek

one to his threading heartbeat

to pull him up out of the labyrinth

of bleeding children bent over the bodies of millions

and for a moment he would show me cornflower blue

attuned light

past his cataracts

and I would catch him into me

pull him into me

against the white of my uniform

the rhythm of my soul

and he would slip, saying

"Meydele," dreaming a memory of Dara, his daughter, into me

"Dara, you should be going to school now."

and I became the child he'd lost long ago

to yet another human  war

"Throw those boots out." Joachim would say

as I would hold the glass of water to his lips

until the liquid soothed his tongue

feeding him peace

comfort

from my heart's basket

my warm hands

until the storms grew quite

and he closed his milky eyes

folded

into my body bread . . . .

 

What can you do for scars like these

aside from becoming the balm?

 

 

 

copyright:2010/vssmd/pa.inc

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

 

excerpt from

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Goodbye]

This poem reminds me of a man that I worked with who was in hospice - his WWII memories coming back to haunt him, washed over with memories of his family. This exudes the quality of one that is moving between life and death, reviewing, searching for meaning, traumas resurfacing...

[No regret]

wow . words r short to comment on this .

[Bard Constantine]

How we take for granted the sufferings caused by a nightmare that most will never comprehend. You painted this picture so vividly, it came a live as I read it... you are so talented at that. This really made me think, and feel... powerful stuff...

[Chris]

nice i like it

[Geralyn Miller]

Oh, Selene, this shines softly like nightlight stars in darktime.
You reminded me of something I hadn't thought of for years. I used to do volunteer private duty(they couldn't afford to pay) at the Little Sister's of the Poor nursing home. One of the people I took care of was a priest who survived the Bataan death march. When It stormed he would become agitated, I would stroke his hand and sing, mostly lullabies, until he calmed. I had the privilege of being with him as his he stilled the final time and his soul met his God.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Sometimes your words flash from the screen as though the edge of a steely blade. At other times, they glisten with twilight sparkle and fantasy femininity. This poem, these words, weep into the marrow, seeping into the soul as the tenderest teardrop. I love the gentle grace of this poem, the nurse, the nightingale, beautiful.

Linda Marie

[AlieahRose]

TIS BROUGHT ME TO TEARS...
VERY WELL WRITTEN...
THE WORDS JUMP OFF THE SCREEN...
INTO YOUR HEART...

[bluessadmood]

ohh i read this many times ..till i was so well invited inside..
i could see a room smelled strange and a white nurse
stooping on a dying old,trying to soothe the little times
he had to spend,wanted to give a little of my warmth
for his cold did bite..wanted to pull him into my present
to wipe away the past even if for a while..i swore
i will take you out of a shell ,i used my eyes
i cast the spell on weak soul to make you join me
feel and hear me a while,take you out of loneliness and a past
so killing ,could i outlast those on your mind
could i do and bring you out and up from where once you fell
i would love to try ,use all my charms to merge your feeble being
into my raging presence..stir you to move,you just chose to lay there
for me this was a great peace its like moving those selected or without will
were dug up already in past ,they could never move without a giant leap..i would help
lovely write..

[Matthew Kult]

They sacrifice so much for us to have so little. So many take for granted the efforts of the true heros of our world, who fight for the cause that we b***h about over coffee and doughnuts. Would we talk so much if we had but 5 minutes in that world, seeing what they see, doing what they do? We take for granted what we have, and we forget to thank those who keep in place for us.

Then to live in that world years later in a mind lost to the sickness of age. A sickness, that if I even show a little sign of, will be the death of me as I swallow lead instead of being lost in my own head.

Always,

Matthew

[Linear]

That was just so tender in outright compassion, a way of giving love, of easing pain, using such poetry within these words, as to draw the reader to the side of the bed, and stand in awe, as the nurse gives comfort to a dying man, not taking away his dignity.

A beautiful heart wrenching poem