Walking forward reciting back
for Philip
in the first warm air of winter
on a path in Washington State
by a river
historic Hanford Reach
after the Ides of March
still grieving a heart attack
by a river
historic Hanford Reach
after the Ides of March
still grieving a heart attack
that struck down my brother
early in January
my shoulder aching still
from a fall six months before
it wasn't the Walworth Road
I was walking with my arm strapped
to my shoulder with tape
it wasn’t on my way to see Uncle
Joe
most friendly of our uncles
nor taking the path through
Myatt's Fields
to play tennis on New Year’s Day
that year we cleared snow off the
court
in bomb battered London
in bomb battered London
it wasn't St. James' church
where we sang for joy
though we were fatherless, iron
in our hearts, a chill alloy
that belled pure notes in spring
it was a path by a river
where we sang for joy
though we were fatherless, iron
in our hearts, a chill alloy
that belled pure notes in spring
it was a path by a river
in Washington State
on All Fool's Day
masquerading as a god
on a bike path by a river
in guise of an old man
or a young strutting stud
I faltered or strode out
favoring the pavement
with a treat in false feet
playing out characters
playing out characters
as I did with the Street
who watched us grow up
in the first warm air
of what would be summer
I sensed a chill in the shade
remembering passing a Barracks
where your father James Philip
stood to attention
holding my hand as he took off his
hat
as soldiers came marching
men came marching
led by Royal Fusilier's flag
that is rare these days
an officer said
an officer said
thank you, sir
for showing such respect
for showing such respect
‘Yes, the Fusiliers marched home
fewer than they left’ said the
Street
‘left The Street bereft’
who knew all people by their tread
knew our father limped
sometimes pedaled a bike instead
on the bike path
I marched shoulders back
like a Fusilier tramping through
France
then back to Dunkirk
traversing North Africa’s desert
until one day in a jeep
blown up by a mine
our father lived to come home
again
blind in one eye and lame in one
foot
only to die of a stroke
one New Year's
eleven years later
now Phil is dead too
of a heart attack
when will I follow if I should
follow?
that's why I'm masked as an
immortal god
three couples passed me
at regulation intervals
Aphrodite and Hæphestus
pretending to be mortals
were always going to be first to pass
I could see they weren't destined
to last
then Erato
more like Aphrodite of all nine
Muses
came by on roller blades
with a son of Ares holding her
steady
I could see they'd be abandoned in
bed
before sun would set
he took her tottering arm and sped
sure footed away as Phil would
have
led Maggie back when they were
courting
then Euterpe a muse most musical
came by with Hæphestus'
son
and I could see it would be she
made him do her bidding
an all seeing old man
a god in disguise
counting three beautiful women
pass
knew it was just another judgment of Paris
an all seeing old man
once intimate with Aphrodite
chose Erato as his pick of the
three
knowing his brother would have
agreed
and that was only the first half
mile
along a bike path where walking is
free
in the first warm air
of what would become summer
an all seeing old man I followed a
young couple
along the bike path
not fast enough to overtake
like an old Volvo on a hill
not passing a Subaru
I closed in then dropped back
knowing I was not fast enough
but realized then that I was a god
disguised as a feeble old man
walking Fondamenta Zattere
doing his best before his heart
gave out
gamely trying to pass them by
who sensing my approaches
fall backs
indecisions
decided to stand still to
let old Ezra pass
our Phil would have strode by them
he was a new model Audi
a self confident chap
he would have accelerated
and passed on by
without pause
then I swaggered on in my other rôle
as a strutting young stud
a prince with estate
concealing the pain of
a sword thrust to his shoulder
wearing his jacket like a Hussar
draped over one shoulder
there were two black cats
lynxes masquerading as cats
one to the right
one to the left
sacred to Dionysius
several hundred yards apart
they looked at me with knowing
eyes
perceiving the god within my
disguise
as one minute a dissolute drunk
or next an earl with a plumed
cocked hat
with appropriate hand gestures
murmurs of greeting to people
passing
I progressed down the path
in the first warm air of soon to
be Spring
when daffodils were waking
trees and shrubs were budding
birds began singing
my brother Phil ran marathons
would bicycle many miles
searched for supernovae
in night time skies
his observatory now stands empty
at the bottom of their garden
he was physically fit
mentally astute
took all by surprise
when his heart suddenly stopped
died on the spot
a thrush was singing in low fluted
tones
in the first warm air
of that first warm evening
when through open windows
music might sound
how he loved music
especially Chopin
how he could warm his grand piano
that stands now with cold chords
he’s no longer at home
at his funeral a cousin piped in
his coffin
with a Lament on Northumbrian
pipes
how sad those pipes sound
what grief they unleashed
as they wailed
seventy years brothers
now time walks forward
one day at a time
reciting his name
copyright
©
Dick Russell 2014
