Undertow - March 21 2022

 

Undertow

March 21 2022

I could see it in his eyes,

a pleading look

of wordless desperation

as if calling out rescue me,

I'm underwater

and quickly drifting deeper.

The merciful thing

Is that most of the time

he seemed happy enough,

as is he'd forgotten what he'd lost

and who he once was.

Except for these brief flashes of insight

when he caught me by surprise.

As if the essential self

stripped of all pretence

and the usual defences 

of a proud stoical man

had somehow persisted

behind that impervious skull

and blank bewildered face.

Is this how a drowning man looks,

breaking the surface

and gasping for air

before slipping under again?

Knowing, when nothing can be done

doesn't do us any good.

Ignorance is bliss

when the mind betrays you,

while all self-awareness does

is make the suffering worse.

Mine, as well,

standing on shore

looking helplessly on,

unable to swim

in water like this;

an unfamiliar ocean

that can shift in a moment

from placid to storm,

then turn as quickly back

to calm.

Everyone says we sound alike.

So what I found most disturbing

was how his voice thinned

as his distance grew greater,

his expressive range

became a mumbled monotone.

How his language got simpler

until it disappeared,

regressing from some well-rehearsed phrases

to terse and profane

to an incoherent muddle.

Then animal grunts, instead of words,

interrupted by laughter

no one could explain.

So I stood,

amidst the sun-bathers

and sand-castle builders,

the beach goers, tiptoeing into the surf,

the young men showing off,

and helplessly watched

as the undertow

kept pulling him further out.

His body shrinking

as his distance grew.

His voice receding

until he couldn't be heard.

The man

sinking deeper

into incomprehensible dark.

I recently saw a terrific movie called The Father. A bravura performance by Anthony Hopkins. All I can say by way of elaborating on this poem is to highly recommend the film.