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Open Poetry #50
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When The Old Man Died I Did Not Cry (edit reprise)
| Open Poetry #50 |
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When The Old Man Died I Did Not Cry (edit reprise) |
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icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows 
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He was still alive when I took his hand; though his strength was almost gone, his eyes were child bright with the good fear of that first big kid ride at a real grownup amusement park. You see, I knew he had ridden Coney Island's Cyclone because he had ridden it with me; I could see that he was thinking this was going to be an even bigger ride. There are always conversations left unfinished, precious trivia left unsaid, it goes along with living with memories of the dead. He tried to say it all then with his eyes; he couldn't talk real loud, could hardly talk at all, his life clock was ticking fast and the spring was almost all run down; I said, "So they tell me you're taking a little trip and leaving the old broad home." He tried to laugh, could only gasp with all the energy he could spare. I held his hand and walked with him as they rolled him down the drive to a shiny quilted meat wagon. He smiled when I asked if he wanted them to blow the siren loud, just for him. When we got to the door a young paramedic dared to try to move me back, but I was holding hands. I scared the poor young boy with eyes my Pa had given me long before I was a man. His own eyes sparkled up at me, and he was looking proud, going off to die while I said, "If they've got dancing girls you better save a few for me, because I'll be there directly, you'll see it really won't be long." With that he squeezed my hand with all the old familiar strength that I had always known in him, when I was just a child, when I'd wait for him, days on end, wondering if this time was going to be the time he was never coming back, but then each time, when he finally did return, he would grab my hand and squeeze until I thought maybe it would break; then he would throw me on his shoulder and we'd barely make it through the door. I had come to wonder where that man had gone, in long years of growing old apart, when all of life turned hard and cold and he'd grown smaller in my eyes. I'll never know why he didn't kill my mother for the hell she put us through; I guess that's where his strength had gone, trying to save his children's sanity, trying not to lose his mind, trying just to stay alive; he really was a stronger man than I. So, looking down at him knowing I had made him laugh, knowing he was not afraid to be afraid, knowing he had realized he had no more need to save his energy, I let him crush my hand in his and give it all to me. ©2003, 2011, 2015, 2016, 2017 by icebox |
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BluesSerenade Member Patricius
since 2001-10-23
Posts 10549By the Seaside |
There are always conversations left unfinished, precious trivia left unsaid, it goes along with living with memories of the dead. ............................. That's my favorite verse. Bless your heart good poet, Sir. |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
I love this poem Charly and its honest human emotion. |
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Poet In Pink Senior Member Posts 1066 MI |
Hello Ice  Your thoughts cut straight to the heart throughout this tribute ~ Can't help but cry while reading...You really touched my heart today ~ Alana |
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icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows |
Thank you all for the gift of your time. |
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