Page 31 - Contrast2005

Grandfather Blowing Out His Candles
Your skin is wrinkled one day more, your grip
six decades weaker, halo fringe gray hair
from medicine that the doctor says will lift
you from death's cradling arms and fatal stare,
will keep you from the ground, the very earth
you tirelessly worked, 'til they said no more,
and no more crowds, but we crowd for your birth-
day, though my brother is ill and his cold
could halt your heart, stop the blood flow throughout
your body. Wax melting, your suntanned head
nearing the birthday cake, I watched as you blew out
your candles-five, because of your short breath-
The very medicine they say will save
you, seems to push you closer to your grave.
-Kenton Martin Camper

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