Death Mask

[nibbed]

I wasn’t sure I'd remember the house,
an old photograph was all I had;
self-seeded plants softened the cracks                                    -self-seeded plants seems awkward to me
but the driveway was still black and white.                              -I like this a lot

Arthur’s shape opened the door                                              -I'm seeing action here and a shift from photo to memory.
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                         -I love the word meniscus and how it works in with pearl inlays.
but he still carried a whiskey gruffness
that reminded me of forgotten songs
and pearl inlays.

Pyjamas protruded under his clothes                                        -maybe they peeked?
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.

He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath
to make the sounds.                                                                   -thinking a comma after sounds and take away the very next pronoun
he told me how much he missed my mother.
“She
wath
mi
baby
sithter ”
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.                                                           -I would have let go, too, but just for a moment



Though I understand a death mask is made of clay
I wondered why the title anyways.


You are a fine poet.

nibbed