WALKING IN SHADE

 

 

After he died, he was still

walking around.

There was a coarse blackness

where his eyes used to be.

All time was shaded. He yearned

for light and shadow, for the same

distinction that used to annoy him.

Often, he would touch himself,

his stomach warm and distended,

his genitals gone, melted

into a smoothness between his legs.

There was no speech here, no need

for food, only touching and hearing.

 

Walking around, the ground felt like sand.

Sometimes there was a wild flapping,

like the sound of heavy birds.

He could hear the feathers and sand,

feathers and sand, he didn’t know how

to think about this place. He never believed

in things he couldn’t see, like witches,

white magic, his wife’s intuition.

Now his hands throb warm as he dreams

of his wife’s brown hair, his hands

the center of desire, a liquid spot

in his palm pulsing during high winds,

or sometimes when the Others moan

their low moan, their soft mourning sound.

He misses his children. He wants to place

his palm on the face of another, he mourns

the waste of his life.

 

 

                                    -----------Jan Beatty

 

 

Jan Beatty is the winner of Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize and Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry and author of two books of poetry.

 

The Walking in Shade is from Mad River, University of Pittsburgh Press.

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content © - Jan Beatty
Music: Bismillah Khan © - All India Radio
image source - http://www.ushmm.org/conscience/alert/darfur/steidle/