Poem 81

written for my grandfather five days before his death. 
Grief is mayan skin.
It was never mine, but I wear it now
I grieve the living, ache from my skin
to hold back time with my nails.
ACHE! What agony to wear a dead man’s skin
History gnaws at the last few syllables
of a dead man’s name like raw meat
cooking in the mouth.
Sweating under a someone else’s skin,
some stranger’s grief.
When one grieves the living they gnaw
at the past tense like fish bones. Perhaps
if chewed enough, swallowing won’t ache. ACHE!
What agony to wear a living man’s skin. 
–ECW
Advertisements

Please Join the Conversation

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s