Words by Jordan White
Feature image by Oliver White
When my thoughts are too much for my bed to burden,
I meet my mother before January’s sheet lightning. Citing
the beauty of the world, she recalls a rain dance from her
Bursting with contagious, confident laughter like
An empty bon-bon, my friend promises me that ‘depression
gets better,’ and looks up at the toenail of a moon.
‘I’m afraid I’m losing you,’ I tell my Grandfather.
Of course he doesn’t really listen, he just sits sullenly
in his home of forty years, counting the cracks between
I meet his worn, foggy blue eyes
And peer, gently, into his soul. I notice how grandfather
Clock of a man he is: all these careful ticks and compulsions
inside a battered, elegant frame. Waiting restlessly, counting each tick.
This poem was originally published in Edition 35 of Verse. View it in its original PDF form via ISSUU.