a last good-bye

 (for my father)


Morning is a requiem to tranquility,
in his bedroom cathedral of cruel light
pain stalks awareness like a cat
leaps, claws nerves
can’t move,
nailed to the cross of another day

get out of bed
gets half way
I must

I can’t,
falls back and
cries,
lays back and
sighs,

fumbles under his pillow for memories,
stories and photographs,
there’s one when he could walk
hear,
see a world more than intersecting walls

tries to get up from,
trapped
in the paralysis between vertical and horizontal,

more than
photographs,

can’t.

nailed to the cross of a another day,

today,
like any day

gets out of bed

has to,
gets half way
gets .... half ... way

can’t.

Remembers,

when he was a soldier
an officer,
the Polish cavalry a thousand don quixotes,
a thousand unknown soldiers
seeds in furrows of blood
their memory, flowers in his eye.

Shot he fell,
somehow survived,
prisoner of war, then refugee
selling bootleg vodka and stolen cigarettes,
reading Gogol by candlelight
dead souls playing jazz,

ah,
it all falls through a hole,
getting old is getting more holes in your head
for more of you to fall through.

But sunlight is irresistible
even through eyes shut against the pain,
through near deaf ears
hears carillon birdsong,
unfolds the impenetrable mystery of hope

unfurls his heart,

arms open
he greets his son,
grandson,
beloved granddaughters
they never age,

my wife is beautiful,

smiles,

remembers,

children, beauty, love,

immortality like music,
the next note always preserves what has gone before,
what will be.


Gets half way,

remembers ...

his trumpet, piano, brother,
jazz at the Trocadero
Monk, the Duke, Cool.

Sits up
doesn’t fall,

the next step,
finds the rhythm,
gets up

must find that trumpet and blow.

He will,

music,
like children
seeds of our immortality,
fruit of memories.

Walking now, with feet of clouds,
a smile
crescendo,
now a laugh,
fading into light and silence,
a receding shadow,
a last goodbye