Poetry: “The World Until Yesterday” by Will Walker

For my father

 

You keep him alive with longing and regret,

memory a patient spider lashing someone

once living to that yesterday when his story stopped

 

and you became one of those spirits divorced

from morning sun, riding an iceberg

calved from the land, looking shoreward at dusk.

 

But all the metaphors are pretty, though sad,

and all the cells of your aching body feel only sad,

not pretty, and you are a wobbling top

 

running down, axis more and more uncertain,

someone cast out in a foreign land

unable to say even Help me, I’m standing

 

on sand in the face of a rising tide, I am bereft

and alone, however you might say that

in your unfamiliar tongue, I am too tired to weep,

 

too late to save anyone, a sack of skin and bones

a-rattle, no one on earth to point me home, no home

in what is known, the rest past words, unknown. 

 


Will Walker lives in San Francisco. He is a former editor of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal. His book of poems, Wednesday after Lunch, is available on Amazon.

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