Winter Man

by amada

Winter Man

"I feel more alive in winter time,"
he said to me warmly,
as if apologizing for his dry smile.

I was the help who brought him water.

Sunshine embraced his wheelchair;
his right leg, wrapped high in an airless cast.
A loud tie up front, to distract visiting folks
from his impassible mask.

I was the help who served him water.

I walked his wheelchair slow,
as if to mend his broken soul.
Bronzed man, who loved wintertime.

His voice, polished with an erudite touch of gloom,
quick witted, and, sometimes, a chip
seemed to blur his pale blue eyes.
And then, his invincibility seemed to melt
with each sip of fresh water.

I sat by his side, thirsty for a drop of what he knew...

the highs and lows in his voice I could read,
and I heard the void in his solemn silences.
Sometimes, a veiled vulnerability
was set aside in a quick dismissal quirk...
I heard the depth of his silences
even when I never went to the lecture hall.

Like a lantern, he guided beyond where I was--
asked me what I thought about the moon and the stars...

I was the help who brought him water.

Today, as I reach my own frosty time,
I miss your warmth, sagacious winter man.

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