Don't mumble

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


The old guy whittles a stick.

I want to ask him
and I wish I knew the question
but he knows the answer
if he can remember

He peers at the slowly moulting wood
through spactacles almost as cloudy
as my perception of him.
How can he see what he does?
The shape of the thing he makes
the slices of wood curling off
Can he smell the ripe, raw scent of the wood?

 

How can I know him,
separated as we are
by his stubborn silence
and my stubborn need
to stay?


Submitted: June 21, 2019

© Copyright 2021 Douglas J Hill. All rights reserved.

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