Grandfather’s Wake
Tell me, grandfather, of the ages pasting your face
Like dried sour milk
On thin paper in
The hot sun.
Tell me, grand-daddy, oh!
My daddy!
Is this death the only face
Where I can’t count on you?
Why make me afraid?
Your jaws and those claws curled closed,
Pretending innocence in repose
And that faint smell of make-up.
I’m only seven,
Lying to myself,
Dreaming
I’m already eleven times this size
Still dancing with your shadow
Hitched to my sunshine.
Oh, love me, angry man!
It’s not to play that I touch your hand!
It is to touch. . .
There is no other
Of such solemn and Pacific eyes
The white hair strips
Like sighs for a trodden brow.
Oh, love me!
Not in all of your spells
Has the quiet so prolonged.
Look what you’ve done to me
Just growing old, once.
So, tell me, grandfather,
Tell me the songs once more;
The ones you sang for every living occasion.
Tell me about little girls everywhere
Who aren’t as pretty as me.
Tell me how and what to see.
Give me your lifetime!
(Now he comes, the changed one, looking at us all.
He sees what we feel with the old man’s fall
And he sees
He left his garden.)
Tell me, grandfather, more
About what I will do now.
Why can’t I move them
As you do?
Why can’t I move them,
Those filling, busy people who neglect me?
Tell me, grand-daddy, oh!
My daddy!
Is this death the only face where I can’t count on you?
Did you know you are killing me
Jut growing old once?
2007-04-13
13:24:57
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10 answers
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asked by
margot
5
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Books & Authors
Thx. Barbiq. I'm probably headed in that direction...just not yet.
2007-04-16
05:41:27 ·
update #1