Father Poem
The Book of the Dead
a poem by Biff Russ
In Egypt, they wrote
On anything –
on the inside of coffins, of eyelids,
on the inside
of their own skin.
They sent their dead on a river of words,
to an afterlife
where everyone dwelled –
the innocent,
and the guilty,
and those who were both.
They took their bodies with them,
And their shadows followed them like children.
Father, you were a bitter man,
But there was grace
In the way you lapsed
Like memory at the end –
Like something
Forgotten,
Something
Forgiven. This is my solace –
It is not my body
For which we are released.
It is the soul
Which is lifted from us like a burden.
a poem by Biff Russ
In Egypt, they wrote
On anything –
on the inside of coffins, of eyelids,
on the inside
of their own skin.
They sent their dead on a river of words,
to an afterlife
where everyone dwelled –
the innocent,
and the guilty,
and those who were both.
They took their bodies with them,
And their shadows followed them like children.
Father, you were a bitter man,
But there was grace
In the way you lapsed
Like memory at the end –
Like something
Forgotten,
Something
Forgiven. This is my solace –
It is not my body
For which we are released.
It is the soul
Which is lifted from us like a burden.
posted by Unknown at 7:17 PM
3 Comments:
ang bigat. nakakapanindig ang imahen.
biff russ's father is a laborer and he probably wouldn't be able to decipher what the father is saying pero ambigat talaga. I got this from a book of father poem's and this is one of the more indelible ones.
I just found biff russ's book "black method" and am really liking it. Can't find any info on her, though. Where she is now, if she ever published anything else.
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