The Wait by Gareth Culshaw

Every day when he wakes
then walks into the world,
he sheds his father’s skin.
The shreds lie around him
like autumn leaves in a wood.
His height has reached the zenith,
and we wait for his tongue
to talk of higher things.
His father was tall, but didn’t
have the eyesight his boy
has. His thoughts are released
like racing pigeons. His eyes
flicker, as if an idea has brewed
then tapped his brain.
Sometimes he will sit
like a forgotten lighthouse.
But we wait like fruit growers,
hoping the ripening from within,
will be here before he sees
his father again.

Gareth Culshaw
Gareth lives in Wales. He has his first collection out in 2018 by futurecycle.

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