Scaffolding Man
He called down from the scaffolding,
Who is the oldest the oldest man
You’ve ever kissed?
I was the 18 to his 28 years,
Barely kissed enough
To have an oldest set of lips.
He was a painter, and I was
His still-life model,
I wanted him to paint me anew –
A huckleberry leg, crimson shoulder.
When it rained, I tried to catch
The stray flecks of colour that fell
As he worked above.
I was the 18 to his 28 years,
As days elapsed, the sun blinking
On the mural more relevant
Than the one hanging outside.
A bird, confused about the coming
Of dawn at midnight, laughed
As I reminded him of his first girlfriend,
Carmen.
He finds her again, in my lips
And I am broken down into points
Of colour
Brushmarks of hips, tongue, ear lobes.
Then the work was done
Step back, pull the sheets
Wet with violet, orange, pink
Away from the edges.
I was the 18 to his 28 years,
A new layer of paint
Drying under his fingernails.
© Caroline Hedin
Bordered by farmland and the Rocky Mountains, Caroline Hedin is a young poet from Calgary, Alberta. Finally free from the constraints of the academic atmosphere of university, she is finally free to reflect on this strange piece of the universe that she has found herself. Through poetry, she tries to understand the complicated and tragic history of Canada, and she is currently discovering how to be a Canadian by learning to skate.
The Loch Raven Review 
Good poem! The last stanza is a knockout!