Third exercise of the May 28th, 2023 poetry workshop I led, where we were asked to respond to the word “witness.”
Leaves fall to still grass,
and there the tall snow grows
underneath icey sheets
a cloaked man walks alone
The wind bites against his cheeks,
he stomachs it, takes it on,
the dogs beside give gentle pause,
this man named Algernon
His left hand holds a cane,
steadfast by shaking grip,
his face grooved by years of patience
a cracked, half-metal him
He walked where no one should,
twenty C below,
now does he have an end in mind,
nobody to call home.
“Can anybody see me?
Can anyone at all?”
He whispers only to himself:
no one would take his calls.
The wind just howled on,
most people fled inside.
Lamps illuminated living rooms.
Yellow sunlight began to die.
Old Al felt a little numb,
a tingle in his hands
a dizziness filled his brain,
his tongue all dry, he could no longer stand.
A snowbank served as chair,
branches served as his blanked high,
he knew his mistake was fatal,
but had no fight to survive.
If you found our Algernon,
a lone face sat in the snow,
would you see, would you speak?
Would you witness him, or no?