Poetry
by
Ronn Hague
Shadows
(for Eugene Tastet 1979-1997)
Shadows.
Only shadows remain
for me.
Lined-up-on-the-wall;
a procession of his shadows.
Some shadows smile.
Some gaze into the distance seeing
only he knows what,
but he won't tell,
can't tell.
He left only his shadows for me.
And so he sleeps, sixteen forever,
never grows the goatee threatened.
His chest lingers bare and boyish.
Nikes nest beside the bed.
Cast off caps checker the wall.
He left me, and only his shadows remain.
I signed my name
when healers couldn't heal,
and they removed a part of him to endure.
It was something he would do:
give himself to someone else.
He was like that:
aiding stranded travelers,
sharing so someone could eat,
and God, how he loved his friends,
often better than me.
He was unselfish, a hard life's product,
so I knew
for his final act he would choose to
give.
I signed my name.
Four children thank him.
Their dad's alive and'll watch them
grow old
And though I'll not watch him grow
old,
he left all his shadows
just
for me.
Brown laughing eyes that glint of rascality;
a hint of a grin that secrets reality,
and he'll find a way to endure life's
hardships
and make those around him smile.
Dark little brows slant with perplexity;
angelic face that swears his integrity,
yet nothing is found that lastingly quiets
him
but the hours of night time's sleep.
He works, he plays with fervor unvanquished;
his mirt, his humor, won't be diminished;
his persistant smile, his contagious glee,
he's a child, and he wants to be.
But sometimes I sneak a peek
at a tear that rolls down his cheek,
and I understand:
He cloaks the pain of things he cannot
change