John T. Scott

I Stare Into The Air

(for visual artist John T. Scott)

I came to see you

Did you know I was there?

I don’t think so. Your head was

Back, your mouth wide open,

Your eyes closed. The sound

Of the machines was louder

Than your labored breathing.

I thought of Picasso, how he painted

That horse, it pained me

That you looked like a wounded animal.

I know you were knocked out—morphine

Morphine is not medicine

That’s what they give to you when

They don’t know what else to do.

About three or four hours later

We returned and now you were awake,

Or at least your eyes were open

I held your hand, lightly, I did not want

To hurt you so I was careful

With my touch and my jokes

I knew you couldn’t laugh. That hurt

Me too. I will never forget the deep

Rumble of your laughter, how your

Eyes would glow, how laugh lines

Were all over your expansive face

You would even reach out and slap

My shoulder but not that day. All

You did was blink to let me know

That you heard me, that you knew

I came to visit you the weekend

Before you died.

I went home glad to have seen you

Sad to have seen you like that

Almost exactly one week later

The call early in the morning did not

Surprise me. I did not cry. I wanted

To. I did not curse. I should

Have. I did not do anything except

Sit back in my chair and stare

Into the nothingness of the air

In front of me.

—kalamu ya salaam