Oldman

My skin is raw.

Salty tears have begun to sear

Valleys in pink skin.

My insides burn

but not like they have been scalded with water

More like the strings I keep inside

To make music

Have rubbed on all my organs

And chaffed holes in them

I picture your body now as a smooth rock wrapped in pale cloth.

Your organs have solidified.

Your lips and eyes sealed shut.

Your life had been ebbing away from months.

You were prepared for your fossilisation.

Chose for your calcified remains to be sieved and sorted.

I don't know what they can do with your brittle bones but build a shrine.

To the man who once used them as stilts

Who walked every road with purpose.

Who flew across land and sea.

Grew tropical gardens and raised

snow white doves

Painted things you couldn't photograph

Photographed those he couldn't paint

Adorned himself with silver and turquoise.

Like an ancient god.

You will have no final resting place.

I will have no place to sow my tears.

So I will send thoughts instead.

To you,

Who I will ever only have known as an Old man,

And you, who will ever only know me as a child.

Goodnight Oldman. My kin.

I will talk about you sparingly so as not to keep you up.

You deserve your rest

-You've been travelling for so long.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

This is one of the most moving tributes I have ever read. By the use of brilliant imagery, the poet lets us feel what the speaker is feeling, but also counterbalances the old man's present sad state with the way he presented in times past. I get the feeling the poem was inspired by the wake or funeral of a beloved relative. Very well done.