Rose Petals on a Bare Wall
58Part I & II, out of VI.
I. Rose Petals on a Bare Wall
Walls tinted pink
by a face that matches.
Pink from her eyes:
wet,
slightly swollen.
Her vision is a thin
sliver of a line,
like a splinter.
The sunlight dances in
from an open window,
landing on her
antique wooden table.
It turns into a fuzzy yellow
from the cherry wood
of her grandfather.
She knew the tree,
from which the table
was born.
She memorized it
from photographs.
II. Grandfather
The domed painted ceiling of
her church,
from which her
heavenly father smiles,
looms overhead
as an eagle.
She feels small,
as a fish in a
crowded river.
Anticipation building,
brick by brick,
until a wall is built.
She feels the terror,
as a fish waiting for an eagle to swoop down
for its final breaths.
"May I pray with you?"
a small voice requests.
I look up to see
my grandfather in his
Sunday suit.
He is smiling next to me
and as I open my eyes
he kneels down next to me.
In a whisper he
begins his prayer.
His eyes glisten,
as a sidewalk wet from rain.
His lids shut, and rain
falls from covered orbs.
"Heavenly father,"
he begins
in a voice not even loud
enough for a whisper.
Its a memory of a whisper.
"Heavenly father
deliver us from evil."
Rain falls rhythmically
down his creased face
into his white beard.
"Deliver us from the evil
into which we are drowing.
Drowning as a baby in a river. A baby
whose cries are barely a
whisper above the yells
of the currents of the river."
Rain falls
as a Seattle storm onto
his hands clasped together
in desperation, so strong
his knuckles match
the white tile.
"Grandfather?"
I ask.
"Grandfather?"
Worry swells as an angry wind.
His head falls onto
his hands clasped together.
His legs fall
limp onto the floor,
hands relax
head falls to his side.
His face is waxy with a
purple tint to his
fair complexion.
His hands come apart
and fall down.
Suddenly he is rigid,
he has not fallen onto the floor.
His legs aren't bent
in disarray on the floor,
as they were moments ago.
They are straight as a soldier
with his arms
rigid parallel lines on his sides.
His body is raised off the floor
by an invisible plank.
Slowly the casket appears around
his otherworld rigidity.
The pews onto which we sit
disappear
and reality falls, like
my brick wall.
His casket is open
and my hand is holding
his face whose muscles have
hardened into a smile.
His smile soothes my mother.
She stands behind me, holding my free hand.
The line for the viewing is
beginning to end as
people walk out the open
front doors. They meet at the grass plot
where the casket will be guided into
the ground. Into a thin ground, next to...
"Mary," mother coos.
"At least he'll be with his Mary."
I can hear the rain pour,
from her broken voice,
into vats of burbling water.
I release his face and walk to the
side of my mother
who walks forward
with the speed of a feather
pushed by a dry wind.
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Comments
It doesn't cover anything. It just pushes it next line down further.
Thanks for the advice, I'll try later tonight or tomorrow, but I've only been here two days and haven't figured out how to go to the next line without it double spacing automatically. And the double spacing looks wierd within a poem.
Blackbird,
It takes a while to figure this stuff out. No rushing from my end, I just could not read all your words. Thank you for being so quick to allow me a complete view. Very good here. I hope to read much more from you. I like the way you pound the details, Very artistic. Thank you for sharing. C.S. Alexis
working
C.S.Alexis says:
3 months ago
Blackbird,
This is very nice. May I suggest you edit and reformat the wording so that the advertising does not cover parts of your poetry. Then I will return to read it. C.S. Alexis