Death Mask

[Winterloc]

Im new at this so hope I'm ok in this forum. I felt this was really touching, delicate writing, in a good way. Great job of transposing the reader; conveying a sense of place and character. 

Edit 1
I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white. I like the new comma and semicolon in the first two lines. I thought maybe add another comma in L4 after driveway and omit "was" for less syllables 

Arthur’s shape opened the door
his face gouged like sculptors clay,
thin lines stretched over cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness Absolutely love this line; I felt I was standing right in front of him
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.  This is one of those beautiful delicate details

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes
as he moved towards his chair
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk;
stroke is such a gentle word.

The room had held onto its memory,
Margaret and Jimmy
smiling behind a layer of dust
worn out and worn down,
family and furniture held in echoes. Really nice portrayal throughout whole stanza, though the last line had me confused, like maybe it should be in reverse? I felt the echoes should be within the tangible things like the furniture. But maybe you meant old items that were already gone. 

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter" these one word lines are distracting, but I wouldnt undo them completely. Maybe divide them into two groups 
"she wath, (comma)
mi baby sithter"   It would still allow for a pause  
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“Heths
fuckin
farthted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand. Again, great job of drawing us in to the simple, real moment throughout whole stanza. 


Thank you for sharing! 


Original
I wasn’t sure I would remember the house
an old photograph was all I had,
self seeded plants softened the cracks
but the driveway was still black and white.

Arthur’s skeleton opened the door,
his face gouged like sculptors clay
thin lines under cheek bones
thumbed deep into eye sockets.

The meniscus of old age bottled his vision
but he still had a Whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes
as he moved around the room to fall fireside,
touching each ledge like a child learning to walk,
stroke is such a gentle word.
The room had kept hold of its memory,
veneered in dust and damp that crept out of the carpet
slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
was
my
baby
sister”
I know I said and took his hand.
His old Jack Russell
lifted its head to sniff the air.
“He’s
fuckin
farted
again”
I know I said,
and let go of his hand.