Читать книгу A Perhaps Line - Gary D. Swaim - Страница 22

for Pop, 9/20/05

He breathes complications of night

like a World War I trench veteran,

mustard gas blocking air passages.

He endures inquisitions at the hands

of unknown enemies, my dying father,

while he tries to calm brittle, restless legs.

****

Had you expected to live forever?

No. I thought I’d see the sun

fall just once more into the blue lake

and push concentric circles of light beneath

my feet at the shore.

Why are you frightened?

I feel the pulse in my thinned neck. It pounds

at first, then again and again. I wait for an eruption

in my brain. Then, the pulse falls quiet.

I hear no pulse.

But there is more you are not telling me.

My sons tell me I should not be afraid, that I am

a good man. In the middle of the night, I am not

sure.

****

He drags anxious thoughts through labyrinths

of night, weighted packs pulling at him