This poem was inspired by the photograph below, which was taken by my friend Michallynn, who has an excellent
blog of her own. I really enjoyed the photograph when I initially saw it and knew I had to write about it. I began by writing everything that came to mind and then chiseled the poem away from the bulk. This is what I ended up with. Enjoy.
The Old Man in the Photograph
 |
| "Stranger" by Michallynn Vilushis |
In front of what might be a grocery store,
An old man creeps up to the edge of the curb,
Watching as the evening sun stretches his shadow
Across the cracked macadam of the parking lot.
How long he looks surprises even him,
His shadow-self now tall and thin as memory.
It’s autumn and he’s unemployed, retired,
And the warm color of his hair has fled.
Perhaps it’s Sunday and he’s leaving church
Alone.
Maybe his family has rushed ahead
And the car is running, anxiously waiting
For him to climb inside and join them.
I can almost see it, the minivan humming
And shaking impatiently, fumes leaking sluggishly
From the exhaust, in between the endless rows,
Each car packed tightly in a coffin of white
lines.
Mumbling a prayer or a list of things forgotten,
With an air of solemn care about him, he stands
In dress clothes that have been outgrown, his
frail form
Bowing gently to the end of something.
Every day it’s as though we say a eulogy to our
youth,
To the seconds that hurry past in urgency and
leave us
Stranded, wondering if we’ll be remembered,
And with a hope that they’ll be coming back.
