David

David

The air rushing past the car created a plug for the senses
as did the “thud, thud, thud” of wheels against heavy asphalt.
He smiles a smile of irrevocable affection in my direction
Dark blue, golden eyes sparkled, observing me through lashless rims
in child-like ignorance? When numerous lines spread across a face where pain had stood
A simple act of kindness caused a transformation in this apparently feeble child-like man.

He is the same as anyone: longing to be loved,
searching to find someone who understands
The unbearable suffering of being alone in the world
Yet David’s pain is so much greater
But his smile never ceases in my direction
for his soul happiness is in the happiness of others
But when the contented crowd leaves, so does his spirit
The pained and tired soul remains

David loves to tell stories of all this friends.
Over a heavily brewed coffee he giggles,
making jokes, and telling about work,
making birdhouses, and tables and chairs
making happiness, for himself and others.

His hands fascinate me, small yet agile;
hands opposable like mine, for we are related.
He is my uncle after all, and although I look after him
We need each other, each searching for love, a connection
Without speaking we understand, we communicate with our hands,
our smiles never ceasing, it is as if we are deaf travelers,
finding we can understand each other’s language
yet when we are separate our language is lost and we need to learn it again.

I went to visit him in Humboldt last summer
David’s dark blue eyes always so full of affection were once again a blank slate,
no recognition arose. I went through picture albums, memories we love the most,
He names “my sister Pat” “my father” “my mother”
yet I can’t help but wonder whether those answers are so engrained in him,
that he answers without knowing who his family is .
And again he is just trying to please, to receive that appreciative smile from me,
when I realize I have not been forgotten.


Sarah Solomon