10-8-08
1:50AM
Losing Touch (Old Soul)
I have come to believe
that losing touch with someone
from an older generation
might be closer to a death sentence than
mere forgetfulness.
We’re happy children—we grow up
—and, not knowing any better,
our lives begin drifting,
apart we go,
to be lost—vanish—until
a chance reminder brings
back from a vague sea of circumstances and situations
some small fish of specificity:
A stuffed animal puppy
A mask in a hospital room—tepid, thickened water
A gruff “Thank you”—a plaintive “Dear” from the next doorway—once strong now half-blind and weakly grasping for guidance
A Braves cap, covering a newly bald head—always gracious—still hungry for carrot cake, ice cream and hot tea—encouraging, humble honesty
I wish I could hold tight to the ever-slacking line
and not lose this fish-specific.
Let me catch and clean from it every bit of
knowledge, inspiration and grace—
cannibalize this old soul so that my still deft fingers
might capitalize on my potential.
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1 comment:
You know, the only poem of yours that I can remember from before is that old visual poem you wrote called "Irony" that had the slug surrounded by the salt! Now that I think about it though, I'd love to go back and read your whole senior project again.
For not writing in a while, you haven't lost touch with the talent at least. I like this a lot - especially just the first stanza, which comes across to me as a simple truism, delicately but aptly written.
I think our best thoughts often come when we have just woken up or when we stay up late, and I'd say this follows that pattern! Thanks for sharing.
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