Confessions – Lauris Edmond
On visits to my brother we talk,
apologetically, of death. Can it be us
sounding as though we’re going to
the same party, and aren’t sure of the address?
Lounging in his carpeted room, we consider him –
that floundering schoolboy
the dazed successful man, this grey figure in its
habitual armchair, grumpy and laconic …
‘All the same – ‘ someone says, ‘you feel the same
inside.’ And we all laugh.
We know it’s an oddity, this creature that continues
to dress, undress, gets tired, has to remember
to straighten its shoulders; we don’t like its face
in a sudden mirror. We know the child hiding inside
is the real thing, its eyes forever widened in surprise.
‘Don’t say so’ says my brother,
‘They just think you’re mad.’
Ref: p.35 Lauris Edmond (2000) Late Song. Auckland: Auckland University Press
From → Elderly in Literature