Richard Jones


Subtitles

I had grown old but I decided
I was going to be young again.
I walked through town in the rain
just as I did when I was a young man
living on pennies in New York City
and could never afford cab fare.
I started smoking French cigarettes
like I did when I was in college
and renting videos of foreign films.
As a teenager I was anxious to read
every book I could get my hands on
so that I could finally figure things out.
I was living in the last millennium,
going farther and farther back in time,
and everything was going along fine
until the late-night phone calls started.
I’d be standing in my childhood home
and the phone would start ringing.
A gruff voice would utter my name
and then nothing, an eerie silence.
It occurred to me that in my fantasy
I hadn’t thought to specify how young
I wished to be—in my twenties?
A teenager? Maybe I was destined to be
a little kid who was afraid of the dark.
Maybe my parents had gone to a party
and I was left alone without a sitter.
The big empty house frightened me.
Rainy nights passed like empty taxis
full of ghosts. Time moved backwards.
I was getting younger and younger,
an orphan on his own and frightened.
My coat drenched and my shoes soaked,
the French cigarettes only made me cough.
And I couldn’t fathom the foreign films.
What the actors were saying was a mystery
and the translated subtitles were of no use—
I was so young, I hadn’t yet learned to read.




Photo: Sarah Jones

Richard Jones is the author of several books of poetry, including Country of Air, The Blessing: New and Selected PoemsApropos of NothingThe King of HeartsStranger on Earth, Avalon, and The Minor Key. He is also the award-winning editor of Poetry East and over the last four decades has curated its many anthologies, such as The Last Believer in WordsBlissWider than the Sky, and London. He lives north of Chicago with his family.

ISSN 2472-338X
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