By Pavel Chichikov
for Grandpa
Look at the skin on my flexed hands
The hollows under my old jaw:
Body, you dim complacent stranger
For you the scattered kitchen garden
And now, old turtle, you nibble greens
Others I see whose skin grows loose
Old skin dry in a drying heat
Children within a raveled suit
Wearing an aged and worn disguise
A mask through which the dead peer out
Some have sad, astonished eyes
Others self-satiric, wise
Know at once where they belong:
In skin like clothing tailored long
Sleeves a size too large
Don't be sad, you will receive
Another suit with perfect sleeves
And legs in which the blessed trip
A proper dance with firm instep
The tailor laughing, spitting pins of light
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)