| New Hampshire Writers |
 |
 |
 |
| ...Righted no matter by Billy |
A child sat on the floor by the door, the smoke filled front room
walked, static noise indifferent ears of my youth a radio squawked. An
unguarded jar of a child's delight, orange chewy, sugary and gooey,
sticky fingers never leaving my sight. A wise man in his chair sat,
listening to news and scores, who did what and who had the biggest bat.
I'll miss Great Uncle Everett, a birthday card I will no longer
get. Never forgotten the smoke filled front room walked, static noise
indifferent ears of my youth and the radio that squawked. The unguarded
jar of a child's delight, orange chewy, sugary and gooey sticky fingers
never leaving my sight. The wise man who in his chair sat, listening
to news and scores, who did what and who had the biggest bat.
Rolling tears streaking down cheeks, strength lacking the fight
gone now for many weeks. Dark cornered thoughts ooze threw, spawned in
festering self doubt, loathing angst, warranted however unconvincingly
untrue. Trapped by a thought, side tract in an idea, reaching for those
I hold near in them the good I hear.
Everyday I fear becoming the man, born of his seed. Ten years the
dry bottle has dripped, ten years searching my place, teased by life's
happiness I have sipped. My unborn child the circle breaks, a wrong
righted no matter what it takes. As a rock my foundation of granite, for
love of my child as I planned it.
In these intentions true love withstands and goes threw
corrections. Shining light in all directions, hope seen in infinite reflections,
in loved ones mirrored complection. And I remember those who have
moved on and where they might be the especially the ones who loved me for
being just me.