A Finished Sculpture

In Memorium: L.C. Prehoda 1913 - 1998

 

 

                l

Daddy,

you look old,

but not old enough

to die,

not old enough

for me to let you go.

My hand is on your shoulder,

I’m saying “I love you,”

I’m looking straight into your brave face

when you start to tremble.

 

Dark goes the light in your flaming blue eyes.

 

“He’s dying!”

Ugly announcement,

I say it much too loud.

I pull Mom to you,

her face presses your face,

she cries.

 

I am the Herald of Hades

and your eyes are gray glass, full of fog.

 

                ll

 

“He’s rallying!” she trumpets,

and all my Jericho walls fall.

No, no, no he’s not

breathing in,

Never again

will those eyes see a way out.

Never again

Will that keen mind dream how to fix something.

Never again

will those big hands cook, or caress,

or make music.

 

                 lll

 

I hold your dead hand, Daddy.

In both of mine

your hand is a cool, white stone.

Your long fingers sleep,

their pale half-moons risen under each nail.

A dark blue bruise bursts open

like a bud.

Death flower,

I watch its ragged shape bloom

across your knuckles.

 

Oh Daddy,

how can I let you go?

 

Weeping wailing words whirl---

 

Oh Daddy,

make the room go still,

make them all be quiet.

Oh let me feel feel feel,

let me feel what I have just seen,

I want to know how much it hurts,

the way you died.

 

                lV

 

I hear the word cremation,

and I look at you, Daddy,

stretched out full length,

perfectly still.

 

You are a finished sculpture.

 

That word sparks again,

and now I have to vote.

The white towel wrapped around your head

holds your mouth shut.

Oh Daddy, my mouth won’t open

but my hand stands up quick,

like a lawyer:

 

I object, I object, I object!

 

Mom overrules,

she bangs her gavel down hard,

again and again.

You are hers, Daddy,

not mine.

 

The room catches fire,

I am scorching,

disintegrating,

 

I don’t know how to breathe.

 

I want to be like you, Daddy,

but my heart won’t stop ba-boom,

ba-boom, ba-boom.

 

I wrap myself in a thick, black blanket.

I cannot feel at all.

 

                V

 

Cold, lonely and sad,

that was the day

we laid your ashes down, Daddy.

We lowered your box with a rope,

down, down, deep

into the hole dug just for you.

 

The sky stretched its clouds into thin, drab sheets.

 

“Come, Ye disconsolate,” we sang,

but my voice broke, and

something spilled out,

Daddy,

something fierce,

like the face of a lion snarling over meat,

something desperate,

like the voice of its kill shrieking

in the night.

 

Up on the hill

the undertaker shoveled the first load

of dirt into his wheelbarrow,

and walked back down.

 

I held my fist of earth tight,

Daddy,

then I let it fall,

and it fell forever

down,

 

down,

 

down,

 

black and crumbly

like my heart.

 

                Vl

 

Daddy,

it’s me again,

I’ve come creeping back like a thief,

stealing memories

one by one

until I feel them all.

 

I sit next to the place you used to sit.

 

In the dim light

I read the very last  

words you ever wrote.

 

“Daddy?” I whisper,

 

Alone in the empty

endless silence

I hear nothing,

 

nothing

 

nothing but my tears

in little torrents rushing

toward the floor.

 

                Vll

 

It’s just another day, Daddy,

I don't know why I thought of you,

but I can still see your face.

The sky reminds me of your eyes when you died.

 

Out the window

a raindrop swells over the edge

of a dark green camellia leaf.

It sparkles,

 

And falls.

Author's Note

To separate child from grown woman seemed impossible when I wrote this many years ago. Just needed to post it...

Reviews

[W. Michael Anthony]

It is a very beautifully written piece. I liked the reference " Herald of Hades" and "gray glass" The sorrow here is thick and forbearing in that I am sorrowful, yet I am filled with sense of wholeness and oneness in the end. It is a masterful expression of an internal progression and, in some way, a personal, spiritual evolution.

I am impressed with this work. Thank you for sharing your journey with the world. I look forward to sharing more work with you and hope to share in more of yours.

wma

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Gee, you did it again. Another heartbreaking yet beautifully written poem. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Vanessa Whiteley]

An incredibly moving write. Its never easy losing a loved one.

[Ed Hart]

it reads like yesterday, and the moments have blossomed again in my old heart...ed

[Shaun Rudie]

Thank you for that experience. "creeping back like a thief, stealing memories", that's the process it feels at times, well-worded. "my voice broke, and something spilled out", can't say enough about that, so many levels of depth with that simple phrase.