Convalescent
by David Ackley
On his first night home
his bed
rockets through the roof
deep into black star-pricked space
his throttled cry too far out
to be heard
that was one ending
Days go by, one day, all days.
An old woman brings
meals
she says eat
so he does
his body a process
only this
repeat
repeat
soft white folds of skin.
Headlights on the wall,
accelerate toward extinction
repeat
later he sways
in a cold
wind clutching
the porch rail
he'd forgot the
whisper of trees
how the grass measures
the course of the air
these differences
the months are gone
and this is something new
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Author's Note
A memory of recovering.
Other stories by David Ackley
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A trajectory of the body: iterative and reiterative experiences ensue when we have to remind our bodies to be themselves, it is amazing how quickly they can forget their former habits.
So well written, the sparseness fits the piece.
"Days go by, one day, all days."
*
Haunting.
*
Well, this says it all. In the most beautiful way. If this were music it would be Erik Satie, a gymnopedie.
Edward,
I liked the way you expand the poem's reach, taking it into new territory to be explored and recounted.
Thank you indeed
Thanks, Foster I'm glad to have your reaction/approval.
Thanks, Bill, a good word from you is worth a lot.
Thanks, Dianne, your delicately phrased comment does honor to the work.
"he'd forgot the
whisper of trees
how the grass measures
the course of the air"
- Good piece, David.
Thank you, Sam.
David, blessed good, this.
*****
Thanks, James. Happy to have you read this and for the generous comment.