Original Poems

vantage point 1

once, at a wooden table,
morning music from an a.m. radio,
bananas cut thick on corn flakes with whole milk,
three children so in their own heads
they barely noticed the others there,
half a mile walk to a bus stop for
two different schools, before
the sun really knew what it thought about the day.

once, at the same scarred table,
three young grownups and their mom
talking about where and how their dad might live
with his memory fading daily,
lost in brain folds soaked in anger
and his forgotten wife’s daily pleas.
three now so in each other’s heads
that every word was a knife, every tear
an accusation.

now, there are marks on the floor where table once stood,
and three standing, still as dust, watch
the sun rise through broken panes,
the sky a prism scattering their thoughts
off to wherever it was
their childhood hopes went to live

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s