A Poem from the Archives:
Vol. 15, No. 60, Pages 259–261 (June 1976)
Father I remember your sweat seasoning
the dry earth
fertilising the iron decks
you scraped with devotion
in the dead-
ly sun
swelling the seas
you have travelled.
Pacing water
chipping rust;
a boatswain to small island
sailors
without pride or purpose.
Now you hobble through simple tasks
that crack
your heart.
I can still smell your sweat in the air
from your weekend's returning
armed with stories, jokes and complaints
about the men.
I can smell your distant letters buried
in the shit of mice, roaches
and
the stench of your decaying suitcase anchored
below the bed.
Today
I confess my love
for you
though we seldom exchange
more than nods
a quiet smile over the cricket score
but we know
and
acknowledge each other's burden
sharing the occasional outburst of
anger
as communion.
Remember
there was a day you
quarrelled with mother
and pulled at the clothes lines
and uprooted them
from the waists of trees
weeping a rage that spelt murder.
2
Father
talk to my woman
for I can still untie that
knot
I too can uproot lines.
She must
thread my isolation
carefully
for already she has broken too many promises.
3
Look woman
the knots in my hair are real
my touch could stab as
sure as my tongue
don't try to tell me
who I am
for
there are rages beneath my
skull
that only amnesia can
cool
so don't fool with powers you
think
you know.
See father, a man whose
feet are swollen like
his pride;
control over self almost gone;
that beautiful wreck is what
commitment can bring one to
love of home before self
so don't tell me about
faith
one must draw the line somewhere
or else
grow old
and blind for causes that are not
one's own.
Respect that sailor's shipwreck
that child marooned off
his own waters
is me grown old and almost
harmless
don't drown him in your tears
honour him
by your silence
and silent devotion to a future
we all share.