Remembrance (1)
Mourning you, I find
I mourn a wider circle.
You stand surrounded by those
who going, left no concrete traces
but only neural paths
by which to call them back.
Fifteen, skinny, an awkward boy,
mostly smiling, ice-skating
with sister, Dad, the dog.
I see the family, not myself.
And here at Horsepond
all your guys, chasing
the hockey puck
under the overhanging branches.
And the tired walk home at dusk.
I hear scolding, for some fault
not now recalled.
Perhaps the fault more grievous
than my mind will now endure.
Mother, cast in an unfit role,
made martyr by the dangers of the world.
I cannot find you in my childhood
save in these snapshots.
Gray, sick, slow-walking
a dog by your side,
this is the way you now appear.
Mother, Father, too have lost
their younger selves, replaced
by old sick figures,
dragging and dying.
My gallery of those who are gone,
more absent now than grieved for.
What has been lost
are the infrequent calls.
Between the phone talks
I had already lost you all.
Mourning (2)
I only find you in snapshots
in my memories of childhood.
I see our dog, Dad, sister,
we are ice-skating before Sunday dinner,
you an awkward fifteen-year old boy,
mostly smiling, always kind.
I watch you skate with all your guys,
chasing the puck under
the overhanging branches.
I don't remember the long talks
I know we had at night.
We were drawn apart by life,
across the continent we talked
but always on the surface,
afraid of stirring trouble.
Now there will be no more calls.
But I had already lost you.
Mourning (3)
I only find you in snapshots
winding in my memory,
Fifteen, skinny, an awkward boy,
mostly smiling
skating with the guys,
chasing the puck under
the overhanging branches
and the tired walk home at dusk
Then years of infrequent calls,
while you were replaced by
an old sick figure
dragging and dying.
Now you are dead.
The line that tied us gone
but I had already lost you.
Mourning (4)
You became only snapshots
glimpses of our childhood
The two of us reading the funnies
before Sunday dinner
an awkward fifteen-year old
mostly smiling, always kind
You skating with all your guys
chasing the puck across the pond
under the overhanging branches
An Army medic, shapeless uniform,
willing, young, thin, bony face
And the years of distance
talking across the continent
of the weather, children’s activities
surface talk
afraid of the depths
Calls less and less often
while you were replaced
by an old sick figure
dragging and dying
Now there will be no more calls
but I had already lost you.
Staying in Touch (5)
You became only snapshots.
The two of us reading the funnies
before Sunday dinner
a wide-eyed boy
mostly smiling
An awkward fifteen-year old
skating with your guys
chasing the puck across the pond
under the overhanging branches
Your shapeless army uniform
hanging on a thin frame
And then the years of talking
across the continent,
surface talk
Infrequent calls
while you were replaced
by an old sick figure
dragging, dying
No more calls.
But I had already lost you.
Staying in Touch (6)
Only snapshots
The two of us reading the funnies
before Sunday dinner
a wide-eyed boy
mostly smiling
An awkward fifteen-year old
skating with your guys
chasing the puck across the pond
under the overhanging branches
Your shapeless army uniform
hanging on a thin frame
Then the years on the telephone
across the continent
surface talk
While you were replaced
by an old sick figure
dragging, dying
No more calls
but I had already lost you.
Snapshots (7)
The two of us reading the funnies
before Sunday dinner
a wide-eyed boy
mostly smiling
An awkward fifteen-year old
skating with your guys
chasing the puck across the pond
under the overhanging branches
Your shapeless army uniform
hanging on a thin frame
The years on the telephone
across the continent
surface talk
Replacing you
by an old sick figure
dragging, dying
No more calls
but I had already lost you.
Lari Smith