Clock hands circle lethargically. Heels
clack, a distant speaker hisses –
muted, surreal.
I shift on a green vinyl chair, eyes
trace an arc from clock to window.
Outside, a succubus sun
kisses children at play.
At my father’s bedside, both of us
wish I wasn’t. I despise myself
for watching the minutes, and him
for teaching me to. Broken
conversations keep awkward vigil
for something long dead.
Ryan Stone
That was incredible, Ryan. So somber and melancholy. You captured the hospital setting and a relationship perfectly. I can actually relate to this, because I don’t have a good relationship with my own father, or I should say it’s one with few words. I’ve often thought of his last moments and what would be said. Brilliant image as well. 🙂
Heartbreakingly beautiful, Ryan. Sometimes the relationships that are silent and subdued are the ones that should be the most vocal. Having a parent who doesn’t ask about your life is devastating.
I can smell the hospital and hear the noise, and see shadows of white moving in and out. Time has never seemed to stop so still before reading this. How skillfully you pull me in with every poem. I feel I am not just a voyeur anymore, but sitting there, next to the speaker..
Doing this one now, with my father-in-law, I never really liked him that much, ever since Carole became sick 35 years ago, and he’d only visit his suffering daughter a few times a year over those 30 years, and yep, from half a mile away, up the same street !!
Maybe, the reason he’d, stayed away from your ailing wife, is because, he couldn’t deal with the fact that his daughter would pass away, before him, and, it’s the most, difficult thing any parents have to deal with, losing one’s own, child, and, maybe after your wife had, passed, your father-in-law was, filled with, too much shame for, not seeing his own daughter, one last time before she, passed away, that, he is, waiting fof you to make the, very first, move…maybe, he’s, waiting for you, to break the, ice first, as men are often, too full of their own, pride…
We all, have to, leave things behind, and, sometimes, it takes, until, years, AFTER thd ones we loved the most, and hurt us the deepest are dead and gone to, let go and
forgive because we trusted them, with all that we have, and finally, we are ablr to, forgive our selves for, being, too, vulnerable, too, trusting of those who are, closest to us. Eventually, we all will, have to, let everything go, because, we come to our senses, that, we’d, allowed what someone else had done to us, hurt us, repeatedly too, long, snd, we decide, to, stop letting the past to, have any more hold on, us.
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