I watch you whispering,
stones land roughly in my belly,
is this the end?
where has your mind gone?
How many more cloudy evenings will you praise?
"We needed a break from the heat," you say,
and dare I ask,
how hot will the final heat your skin soaks up be?
I am not skilled at grief,
can I become skilled?
will this be the skill that makes you finally proud?
Will the flicker of a hard life echo before the silence
or will you only see him, me, them, you, a hum of your mother's forgotten hymn
have you forgotten your mother?
Where has your mind gone?
I watch you whispering,
a ripple of guilt stirs in my heart,
my Genesis,
your Revelation,
I wish you could still see me as holy,
something to cherish,
untainted,
but more than what you see,
I wish I could be for you,
a ripple of something pleasant,
not something that hurts to look at.
I hear your murmur one last time,
a nebulous blur of language,
a tongue too tired to move,
teeth too decayed to chatter,
is this your end?
---
Seeing loved ones wither away is painful no matter how old they are. I'm not ready. I don't think you really can be.
Comments (1)
Wow this is powerful. And heavy. Very effective poetry, the word choice in the last few lines struck especially hard. “Tongue too tired to move/ teeth to decayed to chatter.” I also really find the question of the last heat (or last anything) really compelling. Wish I could write poetry like this, you definitely have the knack