Vigil

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I was browsing some old forgotten verse the other day, and stumbled upon one unfinished piece that's over 10 years old. It might evolve into a decent composition after a few more rewrites.

Back in the 80s and early nineties, I published a fair amount of poetry in journals, but drifted away from writing verse. Recently, I've been vigorously trying to get back into it. The piece below was composed about 10 years ago. It might evolve into a decent composition after a few more rewrites. I dedicate this to anyone who has watched a loved one slowly pass away.




VIGIL

Along along the Big Four tracks,
the ground vibrating
from the approach
of a diesel behemoth,
my young body
became wracked
with sensory overload,
eased by a strong, steady hand.

For one moment,
a vibrant recollection,
rich with the colors
of the respective season,
burn brilliantly,
only to become a washed out
photo usurped by
those final days:
a hospital bed,
an amputation,
a pump, an IV...
a world whittled down
to the most basic of concerns
and routines.

Snatching another
from thin air,
I see sweat dribbling
down your brow
on the heat of summer,
the two of us ambling
along the weathered bricks
of the St. Louis waterfront
an eight-year-old's
slender but eager arm
sends a small stone soaring,
believing for one exhilarating
instant that it will
strike the Illinois bank.
He grabs a twisted claw
of driftwood,
returns it to the flow,
dreaming of it
one day being spit
from the mouth into
something far greater
than its present conveyance.

In the end,
remaining ever attentive
for one final coruscation
from the eyes that expressed
you so well in your prime,
I remain on vigil
watching, waiting,
until you recede
from us, the world, your used
up vessel.