Curtain

I saw you slip past

the curtain of my eyes,
and stoop


in the garden
among the collards, black-eyed peas
and corn.


Your back shunned the sun,
as your gnarled hands picked
their tender leaves, stocks
and buds,

I heard your voice murmured
a prophetic eulogy:

"peace be still,
peace be still"

as if you knew
soon, to soon.


that I'd miss
the oldness of you;


wiseness that weaved through
your hair, shrewdness
that moistened your lips

now--

your ears are deaf,
your eyes are blind

and your whisper
has gone mute

eternally cold.

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