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...

[Marianne]

An Angel's voice, an Angel's touch, an Angel's pen stilling painful memories of a life well lived, but at journey's end.

I believe this 'immortalises' your tender heart, the compassion of your mind for the suffering in this world, a world that easily forgets the elderly, the weak, the 'nobodys'....you have captured the soul of mercy and grace inside your balm here

[.]

your figurative, surreal expressionism is such a pleasure to read :)

[Rick]

A very different aspect of you VSS-D. You letting us peek behind the steely countenance into the sabra-softness we guessed was there? Surely no one with your gifts can be hard throughout like a primordial rock.

Your secret is safe.

Great write. I know this man and his bed sits in Arlington, dressed with a stone.

[Lauren Beth]

I am at a loss for words to describe how that made me feel...so powerful. Absolutely beautiful and touching piece, thanks for sharing.

[Maurice]

Beautiful write. So very emotion-filled and compassionate.

[MichaelsLyric.com]

Thank you for sharing:)

[Jeff Loquist]

i'm usually not at a loss for words, no matter how succinct i am...this is beautiful.

[Pax Analog]

With this poem you beautifully bookend the more familiar fierce surreality of other works w/infinite compassion. It reminds me of when I became some sort of virtual lay priest when I delivered a eulogy at the funeral of a good musician friend w/a spirit of empathic embrace and strange exultation.

You were already magnificent in my eyes, and I dare say I love you all the more for this demonstrated spiritual grace. And of course perfect for Veteran's Day.

[Rikkevi Rue]

you fill the well of emotions in my universe with each line the sentiment rises higher until it drowns my heart, and flushes my throat, and wells in my eyes... were these your feelings or mine...? Art is the quality of communication. Precious.

[Lydia Blackwell]

selene... this is so tender. this is so raw and beautiful. I am left nearly speechless:)