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< after the war >
when i mention you
the doctors
are kind at first
but then they tell me
that i've made you up
and they try and try
to do away with you
but i tell them
that your hands
were new leaves
seen through new glasses
crisp against a clear sky
that your face
was a voice reminding me
of promises made
long before the war
of letters written
and words said
that refused
to be the past
there was a picture
of us in the truck
coming over
the crest of that
last hill before home
passing the few trees
in northpark colorado
us looking like
the life we left
the barbed-wire fences
and the grass
we made into hay
to feed all those cows
that your mom loved so much
and that i
never understood
suddenly the word iraq would appear
with the correct pronunciation
of some river or hill
but i quickly changed it
to the barn
or the tractors
or the school board elections
a picture hangs in my head of you
the space grown larger than my east coast soul
and i am always waiting for the motion to return
needing only new batteries or gasoline or parts
it is the time of year
that the leaves
take on the color of your hands
and the trees are crisp in the clear sky
and every image and smell and the scent of your breath
cannot be told from the other
the doctors
are kind at first
but then they tell me
that i've made you up
and they try and try
to do away with you
but i always knew your name
and i always draw your face out of the leaves
crisp in the fall that no dream could match
their words thrown over you
have made a poor shroud full of holes
through which your sun
shines brilliant in the night
- - -
the doctors
are kind at first
but then they tell me
that i've made you up
and they try and try
to do away with you
but i tell them
that your hands
were new leaves
seen through new glasses
crisp against a clear sky
that your face
was a voice reminding me
of promises made
long before the war
of letters written
and words said
that refused
to be the past
there was a picture
of us in the truck
coming over
the crest of that
last hill before home
passing the few trees
in northpark colorado
us looking like
the life we left
the barbed-wire fences
and the grass
we made into hay
to feed all those cows
that your mom loved so much
and that i
never understood
suddenly the word iraq would appear
with the correct pronunciation
of some river or hill
but i quickly changed it
to the barn
or the tractors
or the school board elections
a picture hangs in my head of you
the space grown larger than my east coast soul
and i am always waiting for the motion to return
needing only new batteries or gasoline or parts
it is the time of year
that the leaves
take on the color of your hands
and the trees are crisp in the clear sky
and every image and smell and the scent of your breath
cannot be told from the other
the doctors
are kind at first
but then they tell me
that i've made you up
and they try and try
to do away with you
but i always knew your name
and i always draw your face out of the leaves
crisp in the fall that no dream could match
their words thrown over you
have made a poor shroud full of holes
through which your sun
shines brilliant in the night
- - -
Published 28th Mar 2013
| Edited 3rd Sep 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
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comments 2
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
28th Mar 2013 12:19pm
sir Ray ---
a
fine wrought remembering
that ye made up here --
bravo,daddyoo chchoo
a
fine wrought remembering
that ye made up here --
bravo,daddyoo chchoo
7th May 2013 6:44am
