Profile in Silhouette

Behind him a brick wall drips with old colors,

He is facing West 82nd Street.

His lashes droop down, his eyes are closed.

All I can see is the blackness where his face was,

.

As if his face had been cut out of the brick

And the brick holds his face for me.

I stare, and the shadow stares ahead,

.

Daring me to remember the color of his eyes

The cut of his hair, his name.

Philip, I say to the picture,

Philip, with blue eyes.

.

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About alicebarrett

Small town writer
This entry was posted in love poetry, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Profile in Silhouette

  1. hms18152012 says:

    This was your Dad right? Great poem The line about his face being framed by brick is very good

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

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