a poem by
GARY S. WATKINS | IT Consultant + Poet
I wrote this poem shortly after the death of my father. My mother, lost without her one true love, would sit and stare silently at his portrait for hours a day. I watched as she aged before my eyes. It was only the birth of my daughter, her first grandchild, that gave her life a new purpose.
Photo by Eric Terrade
IT began in her heart.
Cracks now run through her face,
gathering at the eyes,
pulling at the lips.
Like a renaissance portrait
that outlives its creator,
the pigments fade,
the complexion slowly breaks and splinters.
The smile remains,
perhaps to honor the fallen artist
or maybe because she knows that soon
they will meet again in dust.
This poem, titled “The Waning”, first appeared as a work in progress in The Poetry Circle © 2011, https://poetrycircle.com/ .
GARY S. WATKINS
IT Consultant + Poet
By day, I work on a help desk, helping the technically challenged navigate the labyrinth of hardware and software needed to do their jobs. In quiet moments, writing poetry and fiction frees my imagination and brings some small piece of myself into the universe. I’m inspired by all the little experiences (real and imagined) that make me pause in wonder. Too often, as adults, we lose the capacity to wonder. This is my way of reclaiming it. I have published everything from poetry and micro-fiction to flash fiction and full length short stories in publications such as Star*Line, This Mutant Life: Bad Company, The Story Shack, and Hex Support. When not writing, I enjoy spending time with my daughters and grandkids, playing tabletop games, and getting outside.