Saturday, 11 August 2012

Poem hot off the press.




The Farthest Journey

It is in the sound of the apparatus, like gods,
they surround him, stare into the heart of him
and murmur a decision about him,  that I feel
my disconnect from the prospect of his death.
I offer silent prayers to these unknown machines.
Every labored breath he takes, I promise another act
I will perform as penance, as payment, a stalling
of the ferry’s price, as if my thoughts are a cat of nine tails,
and I flay my future with this fear of being left fatherless.

On his finger resides a clip, as if he is dangling on a line,
or being dangled; a slim chance that he may yet return
to my shore, open his eyes, cease his ramblings
about a past before I was born and smile again at me,
his last boy - this father of mine fights a battle in a white room
and outside the world is grey but between is the deep abyss.

I have not the words of farewell, sacred or profane;
they got lost somewhere in the journey – I
cannot remember when he held me, or the feel of his lips,
only his chin, rough as sandpaper, and his watery eyes
that smiled at me whenever I found my way home.

I have wandered far, thought I had left him behind
and now I stand at his bedside and realize
he is about to take the farthest journey and I stand here
and try to remember every shattered aspect of us.


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