In His Eighty-Second Year
by Dominik Parisien
What he sees is
the Woodbine-covered scarecrow in the garden
a green man crowned in violet blue, with spectacles of shattered glass
an old man with a burlap suit spotted black with berries
What he hears is
his daughter peeling covers off pill-filled containers
water, his lungs filling and his heartbeat drowning
a vine and leaf mouth whispering I love you I love you I love
What he says is
make my blue eyes green green green
fill my mouth with dirt, my veins with sap, my bones with seeds
I'm sorry, I am, so sorry
What he does is
weep for a life loathed, a life loved
smear his face in black-brown earth, stain his shirt green
tell his daughter who knew all along
Dominik Parisien lives in French, writes in English and dreams in a combination of the two. He is an intern for Cheeky Frawg Books and a former editorial assistant for Weird Tales. His fiction has appeared in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. This is his first published poem.
Read Dominik's discussion of this poem over at the Roundtable!
Photography: .the only thing i feel is paiN, by Sippanont Samchai.