Into Darkness
Author: Bill Roberts
I have merely to gaze at my fading
features in the low light of the mirror
to witness the return of my father,
each day coming back more surely -
the clouded eyes, flaring nostrils,
parched lips damp at corners, lazy
man’s stubble, knotted throat apple
bobbing through trebled chins -
a sight I was certain I’d never see again,
but here he is, back once more to follow
my slow progress of transformation
to becoming what I’d feared: him.
I could turn up the lights, perhaps
rediscover me, but too many years
have passed and my inclination is to follow
his lead, begin dimming them instead.
(Published online in Issue #10 of Chantarelle’s Notebook, November 2007)
Note: Why this dark poem today? Maybe because it’s dark and dismal outside, snow threatening. But probably not. Maybe because we saw the movie “Precious” yesterday, tossed and turned all night – an important film that makes me thank lucky stars we have such a great welfare system in this country, at least in Harlem and throughout New York State, I presume. But probably that’s not the reason either. The reason is: with age, I’m coming to look more and more like my father. Am I becoming him? That’s an answer that will have to wait….but possibly so, very possibly.
