He was with me
in the sunlight pressing blocks
into carpet, heat kissing the tips
of his black shoes shiny while I played
the shoelace game
with my small fingers
always unraveling
his knots–
and then
he wasn’t there,
but dead,
a new word for me
meaning that grandfather
eased out of his skin
and left it empty,
the way cicadas do
when they outgrow it,
escaping that too tight feeling
to spread wings.
Before then, I thought
you climbed those steps to heaven
wearing your skin
all the way to God;
not leaving a husk
like something breathed out of it,
not that naked.
Susan Daniels Poetry 
Good one Susan. Loved the cicada metaphor.>KB
Thanks. Hard to believe I thought about that at 2, but I did. Strange child.
You are strange indeed. smiles.>KB
Yes, I never outgrew it. Smiling big.
Whew, thinking about grandfather easing out of his skin and leaving it empty…..perhaps this is as good a way as any for a child’s understanding. Loved the metaphor.
Thanks, Mary. Hard one to write. I had to crawl back into my 2-year-old mind.
The childs view… beautiful Susan.. amazing metaphor.. and if I could ever capture the strange thoughts I had. The playing with shoelaces became heartbreaking when reading it a second time.
Thank you, Bjorn. It was a difficult thing to write, but glad I got it out there.
This is such a perfect example of remembering that first experience of death. The details about the shoestring game followed by the stark reality of absence. So powerful and, I should guess, cathartic.
Victoria–yes, this was cathartic. Thanks so much for your thoughts.
Great title and I love the cicada reference. Isn’t it interesting the questions that come to mind when we first experience death.
Oh, I agree–and thanks for commenting.
evocative, vivid tropes, Susan – strong pen
Thank you so much! Love your use of the word trope 😉
Wow… so full of childhood wonder and the stark reality of death. Great write.
Thank you, HA. It was hard to crawl back that far, but glad I did.
All good–those last two stanzas, though, stand out like a model of perfection. “Wearing your skin”–what a perfectly rendered line!
Oh, Nico, thank you!
Perfect metaphors that inject into our subconscious.
Excellent! work.
P.S I posted a poem yesterday if you want to check it out. 🙂
Thanks and I will!
I think that this is a very cool poem. I like the cicada comparison. I just like the whole thing, what you say and how it flows. Death not easy to write about, you have written about really well. You tell a story and I like it.
Oh, Liz, thank you. Like most of us, I have had a lot of experience with death. Writing about the first was a challenge.
Now this is intense. I especially like the cicada stanza… a perfect explanation for a child.
Thanks, Laurie. A tricky thing to write about. Your toga party is still burned into my mind. Brilliant and so sad.
Thanks. It is very sad.
i lost both of my grandfathers by the time i was ten…both of their deaths were very impactful in my life…and i have wondered at what it would be like if they were still there you know….they were some of my first tangles with death and loss…
Oh, mine too. My grandfather at 2, my grandmother at 10, and my father at 12. Those losses do impact us the most, I think.
The metaphor works and the simplicity of language together to create an indelible image of a child’s loss that can’t be restored or forgotten. Beautiful.
http://beachanny.blogspot.com/2013/09/we-were-ones.html#comment-form
Thank you, Gay. That has stayed with me forever.
Its rather surreal…
Thanks. I think a child’s mind is surreal.
Your writing from your child thoughts makes this so very powerful and sad.
Thank you. I did experience a catharsis with this one, as well.
Oh very good. Very very good.
Thank you, Shanyn.
You really stepped back into a child’s mindset there – an amazing analogy and a very novel way of looking at death.
Thanks, MS. It was a long stretch back…
This has the vivid vision, sounds and smell of a young memory and the way we think of things before we’re taught the cultural linear verbal “right” way to think about things. This sense of intimate and direct experience makes your poem an exquisite enjoyment for me.
Oh, Alice, thank you. It was a bit tricky, getting back into that very young skin for a moment.
Good work. And you got back out afterwards? 😉
Mostly. The blessing/curse of an eidetic memory. I remember things I should not. Think it has to do with when I started speaking/reading agewise.
I remember learning to speak certain phrases as if they were words when I was very small. I never believed that old rule that kids don’t remember things.
Yay! Thank you! I argued with my developmental psych prof about that years ago…
Dev psych. Bleah! Repeating themselves doesn’t make them right. 😉
powerful and very moving resonant with another’s life
Thank you, Christopher.
wow Susan –> “meaning that grandfather
eased out of his skin
and left it empty,
the way cicadas do
when they outgrow it,”
Thank you, Stacy.
Yes, this is how it is. When my grandad died I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the coffin, thinking of his husk inside. So descriptive, your poem.
Thank you. Sad subject matter for all of us. I think we have all been there, where this poem leads.
It really seems to me that you speak from experience. The writing is just really raw and full of emotion that I have to wonder if anything’s happened that could elicit such. Nonetheless, the poem was beautiful and it made me rethink the way I treat others.:)
Thank you. Nothing happened to bring this up but the writing prompt at dVerse, but it was a welcome catharsis of sorts.
😦 Poignant.
Thanks, Nelle.