Father I Am.

Poem By Mary X

Drink up.
drink the juice;
it comes from the sky.

no longer do I grasp the music
of worn-edges, no longer
do I feel the wrath of
hatred. to question
is vital.
to believe in the answer
even more so.

let me take you to a place.
an airport.
July 1997.

cigarette heads and laughs anonymous.
Brian Eno’s tone and James’ ambience.

here I wait for the walking
a stem.
playing chess with pieces
of sterling.
pieces in the pig pen.

who waits?
who feels?
waiting and listening.
waiting for the man
to come through those drunkard
doors; the bee, the antiquity,
the fruit.

a thousand surgical procedures
take place at that second and this,
yet I and we remain seated
drinking, drinking.

who walks?
who comes through to
the other side?

of course,
I am lost in this world of
alphabets like Khayyam.
of course,
not just the man;
not just the blind man
walks through,
he holds memories
of being me,
waiting just like he is waiting.

Comments about Father I Am.

WOW! ! (enough said)
This is a fantastic poem, so fresh in originality. The language is superb and the airport/Brian Eno link so subtle and clever. From the opening stanza this piece grabs the attention and imprisons it until one is forced to comprehend it.
a thousand surgical procedures take place at that.... yeah, that's the stuff. cheers, Sus

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