I find my father strapped to a hospital bed
flat on his back in a room shared with a man
strapped to a chair who speaks loud & unstoppable
of what has been done to him — crimes —
he names them, a large man, his chair scrapes
the linoleum, a small room, the chair in the corner
is what I see first, window next to
the chair, to my right the head of the bed
against the wall, I walk around the bed
to stand at the other side, my father’s eyes
roll from one side of the bed to the other
from anguished wife to me wearing one of
the prettiest dresses I ever owned, fitted bodice
a swirl below, dark sleek fabric with tiny bouquets
this man who all the time I knew him acted
as if he ruled the world spits soft consonants
from louche lips, his retreating hair, pale
now scarcely freckled skin, lolls his head
back & forth from one woman to the other
beseeching, leering, faint, I hope someone
will give each man a rucksack, release
each man to a meadow high in the Alps
summer sun, fresh breeze, lupines
among the wildflowers, if sense can be had
only freedom will bring it, only wild.
No comments:
Post a Comment