The Fitting


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.)

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