Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Water water water water water


Time weighs on him like wet clothes
as he wades into the current
of conversation
as he stands over her
tugs
at her arm
so this can be something asked
and answered instead of only the running
monologue of disease


water water water water water

that's all there is


he says

I know

she says


Friends and family visit and revisit
the question with raised eyebrows but don't ask
because it is easier to make our way down
to the heaving dock with its cross currents
and cross purposes and watch as rocks
break free of waves for long moments learning
again about moment
by moment victories
like when he takes her hand
like when he strokes her face
and calls her sweetheart

But what about the defeats when he goes
dumb staring shy is it easier to pick
your way between shoals of dead
and dying mayflies down to the dock


water water water water water

that's all there is


he says


Is it easier to sit at the edge and let
the dock move you removing
the idea of control
there is no way to know which
wave will come but even so they will break
and you might
break
but not just yet
and you could still drop
off the edge
there is still that


I know

she says

* * *

My uncle, Harvey Barrett Gordon - Barry - died this past Sunday.

For years, I've been writing a poem about the annual drink-and-stink, what we all called opening weekend of the family cottage, while the men were all still healthy enough.

Barry's the central character in that poem. He can still be the central character in that poem, but he's gone now.

RIP.

4 comments:

Ian LeTourneau said...

condolences, Ariel. My thoughts are with you. Take care.

Ariel Gordon said...

Thanks, Ian. I'm fine but I'm thinking tonight of Barry's sons and his wife, who cared for him for many years.

Brenda Schmidt said...

My condolences.

Ariel Gordon said...

Thanks, B.