I Stare Into The Air
(for visual artist John T. Scott)
I came to see you
Did you know I was there?
I don’t think so. Your head was
Back, your mouth wide open,
Your eyes closed. The sound
Of the machines was louder
Than your labored breathing.
I thought of Picasso, how he painted
That horse, it pained me
That you looked like a wounded animal.
I know you were knocked out—morphine
Morphine is not medicine
That’s what they give to you when
They don’t know what else to do.
About three or four hours later
We returned and now you were awake,
Or at least your eyes were open
I held your hand, lightly, I did not want
To hurt you so I was careful
With my touch and my jokes
I knew you couldn’t laugh. That hurt
Me too. I will never forget the deep
Rumble of your laughter, how your
Eyes would glow, how laugh lines
Were all over your expansive face
You would even reach out and slap
My shoulder but not that day. All
You did was blink to let me know
That you heard me, that you knew
I came to visit you the weekend
Before you died.
I went home glad to have seen you
Sad to have seen you like that
Almost exactly one week later
The call early in the morning did not
Surprise me. I did not cry. I wanted
To. I did not curse. I should
Have. I did not do anything except
Sit back in my chair and stare
Into the nothingness of the air
In front of me.
—kalamu ya salaam