2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 13

As many of you are aware, I just returned from the Austin International Poetry Festival earlier this week after being a National Featured Poet. The event was a whirlwind of poetic activity, and since there were several things going on at any given time, I only experienced a slice of it. Click here if you’re interested in reading about my slice.


For today’s prompt, write a poem that remembers an old relationship. This relationship does not have to be romantic. It could be a departed (or estranged) family member, old friend, former teacher, or even just someone you briefly encountered. And the relationship may have even been one-sided or seemingly insignificant to the other person. So let’s all dig deep into our memory banks and see what we can draw out today.

Here’s my attempt:

“Big Matt”

He dropped me on my head 8 times,
but I thought I was being tough.
I asked for it, it was no crime;
he dropped me on my head 8 times.
Though now I have trouble with rhymes
and my childhood seemed kind of rough,
he dropped me on my head 8 times,
but I thought I was being tough.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

And tweet your April PAD Challenge progress on Twitter with the #aprpad hashtag.


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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 13

  1. Susan M. Bell

    New York Train

    I saw you there
    In your leather-jacketed splendor
    Long hair in your face
    I wanted to catch your eye
    Flirt a bit
    Knowing I’d never see you again
    But the train stopped
    And you stepped off
    Leaving my little world
    Moving into the other land
    That is my memory

  2. Caren E. Salas

    Say Good-Bye

    I think I heard you left a note.
    I never read the words you wrote.
    I didn’t need the reasons why,
    But you didn’t even say good-bye.
    Maybe had you looked at me,
    You might have never broken free.
    Maybe had you seen me cry,
    You might have known you shouldn’t die.
    Or maybe the darkness was too much
    To overcome with just a touch.
    What’s left for me to do, but try
    To find a way, to say good-bye?

  3. G. Smith

    (c) 2011 – G. Smith

    "Good night, Old Boy," Big Papa said,
    Smiling from his easy chair
    As he watched me climb the stair to bed.
    "Good night, Old Boy," Big Papa said,
    As I paused at the squeaky tread
    And smiled back at him sitting there.
    "Good night, Old Boy," Big Papa said,
    Smiling from his easy chair.

  4. Jay Sizemore


    His eyes had the reflective quality of nickels,
    a brightness unnatural, with a muted lack of empathy,
    like the eyes of a rabid wolf shoved into the face
    of a pasty-skinned teenager, all freckles
    and unevenly spaced teeth, orange hair disarrayed.

    Dried flakes of spit in the corners of his mouth,
    he’d lurk for opportunities to pounce on the weak,
    his size and farm-boy strength more than menacing
    to the younger kids, like myself, who was trapped
    each day in the oblong yellow casket with windows
    that drove us away from the middle school.

    If I was just a skinny boy waiting for puberty
    like a child reaching to be picked up,
    or a dead opossum in a ditch for kids
    to poke with sticks, Dusty would rather
    bash my head in with a rock, to see
    what my brain looked like.

    He would sit behind me on the bus,
    throw paper, empty cans, boogers,
    flick ears and skull, rabbit punches
    to the back and legs, trying to set my
    pants on fire with his cigarette lighter.
    With each taunt his mad turkey cackle
    would beg for retaliation, any excuse
    to inflict more pain.

    I remember once, on a field trip, he tormented
    a friend that shared my seat, slapping him
    over and over until his eyes welled with tears
    that didn’t dare fall, hocking a loogie into
    his thick black hair and asking him to do something
    about it, while I watched like a frozen field mouse,
    hoping the owl didn’t see me move, and my friend
    clutched a sharpened pencil in his fist
    until his knuckles turned white, shaking
    with a furious desperation, his eyes taking on
    the look of a cornered dog, and I wished,
    oh how I wished, that he would snap,
    and stab Dusty right in the larynx,
    his blood spraying over us both
    like some kind of baptism.

    Before the start of the next school year,
    Dusty drowned while cliff diving at night,
    and when I heard the news that people
    seemed obligated to label a tragedy,
    I felt nothing but relief.

  5. Laura Kayne

    First Crush

    First crush,
    So young, so innocent,
    So hopeless and shy,
    I didn’t even try
    To be more than his friend,
    Just day-dreamed of a future,
    Not knowing that twenty years later,
    We would both be married,
    To two different men,
    And living on different sides of the world.

  6. ChapLynn

    Father Title

    By the time we met
    he was old and grey
    Out – he was on his way
    I was 37
    with not much to say
    Stranger – he was to me
    Daughter – because I had to be
    Confused – why he didn’t fight
    to be a part of my life
    Sad – for his loss
    for the bridges he never crossed
    Proud – of the service he gave
    Crying – at his grave
    Mourning – a man I did not know
    Honor – to bestow
    at Arlington National Cemetery in the snow

  7. Virginia Snowden VSBryant

    I Knew You Once

    I knew you once, some time ago
    Days were nights, nights were day
    Love was wonderful, how I thought the magic would always stay
    I knew you once, some time ago
    You held me, you comfort me
    You stood by me, you were a part of me
    I knew you once, some time ago
    My lover, my friend
    Our love would never end
    I knew you once, some time ago
    A love like no other
    Now simply floating in the wind

  8. Meg

    The First

    Life was so simple
    When it was just you and me.
    Time seemed to move slower
    And we had enough of it
    To do whatever we wanted
    And to fix what we didn’t
    And we never wasted it.
    Sitting under a tree
    Crunching leaves
    Staring at the fish
    Walking for an hour
    Napping for two –
    Was time all spent bonding
    And building. Just us.
    New mother and her first baby.

  9. Iain D. Kemp

    Dear Moosehead,
    Wash outs are good for business.
    Made a stack in the city and at least
    the bullpen got another day to get
    their act together. It’s bird bashing time,
    amigo. Speaking of which, I got a snippy
    note from the witch in Bird Town who likes
    to jibe at my expense and somehow has the
    misguided impression that we only eat wildfowl
    at Thanksgiving. The lady is mistaken. The harpies
    are happy with the mad mutt who kinda likes me
    and I guess I bear no grudge. Gonna work a double
    – make some bucks before a week at the park.
    Bird stuffing time tonight! Pick up at 6, I’ll get the dogs.

    Yours counting the green and smiling
    Ringo the Howler

  10. Iain D. Kemp

    Sad Monster

    Some said I was born with you inside me
    some said I swallowed you along with my dreams
    as a tearful child
    who cried
    and cried
    and died a little more inside
    every time the pain came

    It matters not as I recall the sentiments of decades
    without emotion cold as stone
    in clarity like blu-ray
    gone to stay
    far away
    never coming back again
    R.I.P my demon demised


  11. S.E.Ingraham

    Buck Lake Summer and Christopher

    Nights were cool that summer
    I remember that much and you
    Offered to give me a ride home

    Home was a cottage way out
    On a lake, at least ten miles
    From where we worked – at least

    Was I crazy? Ten miles on dirt
    On the back of your Harley?
    There was nothing like it ever

    I can still feel my hair whipping
    Back and forth on my head
    The rush of air on my bare legs

    How warm your back was against
    My chest as I hugged you tight
    My arms locked around your waist

    The dizzying fear and exhilaration
    When you’d dip your bike into a curve
    Going around a bend in the road

    I swear, I could see the pebbles
    On the shoulder of the road individually
    We were that close to tipping

    Were you nuts? Or just that good
    I know I thought you were something
    I just don’t know what …

    Years later I miscarried when I learned
    You’d been killed on a racetrack test
    By a bunch of kids going the wrong way …

  12. Scott Mesrobian


    We met as students, I was four years older
    But you drew me in with your playful wisdom.
    We were friends, never lovers

    You made me smile and I made you laugh
    Especially when I said something stupid.

    The nights when I was afraid of the work
    in front of me,
    You spoke to me over the wires in a voice
    Of support and love, assuring me that
    It would all work out.

    The weeks and months passed in the only year
    In which we would be in the same place.

    When the last days approached and I knew
    I would pass the final test to move on
    From this place, this campus, this world,
    You said not goodbye, ‘til we meet again one day.

    Those “one days” did come, though sparingly
    As we took different paths, each well-traveled.

    And one day, I may yet again hear your voice
    saying, “It will all work out.”

  13. LBC

    Maintaining An Old Relationship

    This relationship of ours
    born in time
    before electronic devices invaded personal space,
    before the mall stepped into the cow pasture
    and the highway made it faster to get out of town,
    before the spotlight focused on the complicated aspects of the world around us
    and the couple dollar bills in our pockets were not plastic.

    This relationship of ours began with a handwritten note,
    music on the car radio, dinner in a restaurant with
    a carousel in the lounge.
    We bet on the horses that night
    our first date, won the trifecta
    a premonition
    as years later our relationship created one as lovely as she
    made us three.

    This relationship of ours, old and comfortable, faded and worn,
    measures the years in blessings laced with love and laughter,
    moments of pain and sorrow disregarded in a toast to our accomplishments.

    This relationship of ours, fresh and new each day,
    outmaneuvers the challenges
    of maintaining an old relationship.

  14. Kimiko Martinez


    I napped next to you
    when I was young
    and again when I was
    grown, nestled next

    to the withered woman
    who once changed
    my diapers and
    chastized my bad

    manners. Your breath
    was soft and smooth
    then. The years of
    smoke had settled

    into your cough but
    not your dreams,
    unlike the mask that
    buried your frail face

    when I slept next to
    you one last time
    and help your hand
    as you slipped away.

    ~ to Grandma Bonnie

  15. Kimiko Martinez


    I napped next to you
    when I was young
    and again when I was
    grown, nestled next

    to the withered woman
    who once changed
    my diapers and
    chastized my bad

    manners. Your breath
    was soft and smooth
    then. The years of
    smoke had settled

    into your cough but
    not your dreams,
    unlike the mask that
    buried your frail face

    when I slept next to
    you one last time
    and help your hand
    as you slipped away.

    ~ to Grandma Bonnie

  16. Arrvada


    We parted ways while we were still young
    I hated you at that time
    You betrayed what I thought you should have been
    You said words that stabbed me through
    That gouged me deep
    And took years to heal
    You said I wasn’t enough for you
    Even when I had given up all I was
    All I wanted to be exactly what
    You thought you needed
    Looking back I see, you were as clueless as me
    You didn’t know who you were
    So how could we have know who we were together
    You didn’t know what you wanted so how could you
    Have known what you wanted and what you had
    When you gave me away
    Looking back I can see
    With perfect clarity
    That you were too young to know
    And so was I.
    So now I have only six words to say to you
    “Thank you for letting me go.”

  17. JSP


    My cousin’s wife
    so that makes her my cousin, too
    We first met when I was ten
    her sons, nine and six.
    Our friendship bloomed almost instantly.
    It felt like we’d been
    best friends my whole short life.
    One brief meeting, only a couple of days,
    and then it was years before we met again.
    The feelings were still there, the closeness,
    the bond of friendship, much deeper than
    her seeing me as the daughter she
    didn’t have. We were best friends,
    we shopped together and giggled like schoolgirls.
    And yet again our visit was over too soon.
    College years almost brought us together,
    and maybe it’s best that they didn’t.
    She was there for my wedding with practical advice,
    a helping hand, a hug, almost a second mother,
    but much, much more – a friend!
    Our hours together were always brief;
    yet powerful in their influence.
    A love, a friendship;
    that spanned the generations.
    No one could explain it, no one tried.
    She’s now gone on, but a friendship like ours
    never dies. It’s always there to lift me up,
    to put its arms around me, to give me a hug.
    And I know that she is still my best friend.

  18. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    dear quantum relationship
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    i’ve dated a lot of types in my day,
    electrons, neutrons, photons and others
    but what the hell was i thinking
    when mr. fecal matter came along?
    the quantum physics involved
    in relationships with dark matter
    is complicated at best,
    a little like mashing two monkeys
    in a blender at light speed.
    even now, looking back
    i wont pretend to understand
    the attraction of cows and canoes
    in a b. kliven world,
    other than to say
    it was enlightening,
    coloring crop circles
    with you while it lasted.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  19. Doug

    talking to grandpa

    we never talked
    of things that matter, the heart,
    money, the correct colour
    of the best flesh
    on the butcher’s counter

    instead, Grandpa, we dabbled
    in the wealth
    of conundra and queries,
    how best to angle an umbrella
    to evade the sun

    the cheapest way to stoke heat
    in a greenhouse jungle
    of tomatoes
    (built itself from salvaged panes and plastic)

    funny, really,
    because I do not know
    where the tomatoes were
    when we cremated you

    did not know
    into which recipe they went,
    or whether you or grandma cooked them

    i was only glad for the shelter
    that you had given her frail mind
    for so long, unspoken

    grandma, whose wheels on a bus
    did not go round and round, but long since
    fallen off her plot

    but we never talked of this

    or that

    or the other thing

    and now
    i wonder what they were

    ©D Pugh April MMXI

  20. Carol


    You stopped traffic
    in your black bathing suit
    a flowered blouse under it,
    pantihose and tall boots.
    The bus driver watched
    as you entered the bank.

    You drew out all your cash
    bought travellers cheques
    denominations of twenty only.
    One hour for you to sign them.
    I daydreamed while I watched.

    The next day you were back.
    You cashed them in again,
    each and every one.
    Twenty dollar bills, please, you said.
    Only old ones, not the new.
    Your father told you never to accept
    money that did not say legal tender
    on its face.
    My face could have turned blue
    explaining. It did not matter.
    You clutched your cash,
    placed a wide-brimmed straw hat
    on your sleeked-back hair
    and walked out again
    tall boots, bathing suit,
    and your eccentricity intact.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 13, 2011

  21. MiskMask

    The Phone Call:    she said    He Said

    thinking that’s all
    of you wondering why
    goodbyes good riddance
    why’d we say forever
    when for you forever
    meant a mere year.
    my forever’s forever
    I miss you miss you
    I’ll miss you forever
    do you miss me miss me?
    are you seeing anyone?

                   None of Your Business

  22. shann palmer

    Once Upon a Mattress

    Ronnie Somebody from high school.
    Why didn’t you want to sleep with me?

    Or Skelly, him telling me I’d be married first,
    I wanted him to consume me when he played
    “Scotch and Soda” on guitar so I could sing.

    Then there was Greg and his older brother
    when the former rejected me for PATRICE JORDY
    Ken got my homecoming boutonniere
    (he got to touch my breasts but no more).

    Sure, my dad was bat-shit crazy,
    they were all afraid of Charlie Palmer ,
    what he might do, what

    they didn’t know was he’d already done plenty,
    I was eager to give myself to any of them
    if it meant I had another comforter, protector.

    Some one else to show me
    how it was really
    supposed to be. Not wrong or secret.
    Or a bargaining tool for dresses, radios,
    the sheet music to Rhapsody in Blue.

    It didn’t count. He said.

    I knew that way before he told me.
    It changed everything.

    I was always afraid
    they could sense what I was
    and that’s why none of them would
    sleep with me. I haven’t forgiven him
    or them.

  23. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Anders … Noticed you mentioned something about not being a participating member over at PA… are you kidding? YOUR SEARCH TOOL is a constant reminder of your dedication.

    There has become actually a wonderful problem here at PA… there are so many participants that it is extremely difficult to comment… So, following suit of many…I’m going to give this a try, although it doesn’t satisfy my need to be more specific here are some “mentions” in no particular order:

    Sara V’s “Ain’t Nobody’s Business But My Own”
    Walt’s … don’t leave your check stub… short and sweet
    Andrew…awful secret.. brilliantly described in a child’s voice
    Nancy P… outstanding as usual
    Rachel … mint tea.. can smell it and feel the china cups
    Michelle.. large victories in ordinary seeming choices….

    Okay gang, this simple “mentioning” is not going to work…
    I’ve already tried to skip some and they are still lingering in my mind…

    I have not even been able to approach thanking all who commented and were able to somehow take the time to read and comment on my poems of the day… I do remember MiskMask from earlier this morning, still floating in my mind… Thank you to everyone!
    (BTW I was writing this morning on less than 3 hours sleep and my alphabet poem omitted Q and Y which is corrected at my blog if I ever get the poems posted now at
    “Imagine” http://drpkp.com

    So to all… including Barbara’s guilty milk-shake from last night, just wonderful work, a chorus of varied voices, tones, and I just thrilled to be part of this songful community.

    Tonight I must sleep….. Good night and happy poeming to all….

  24. Nina B. Lanctot

    John Armstrong

    Eighth grade is not a good time
    to be serving hot chicken mashed potato and gravy
    dinners on flimsy cardboard plates in the Grace
    Church Fellowship Hall only to have one extra full extra
    hot plate crack right over the lap, yes, the unmentionably tender
    part, of a seventy year old man.

    So who knew that in eighth grade there would also be
    a dance in the Grace Church Fellowship Hall and that John
    Armstrong, a ninth grader, who had never spoken, would ask
    me to slow dance, and take my right hand in his, enfolding
    it romantically just over his heart, touching unmentionably tender
    dreams of a fourteen year old young woman.

  25. Mike Bayles

    Taking a Ride with Big Billy

    His red Plymouth Duster
    leans to the left side
    with the bulk of his weight
    as he takes me for a ride
    down a street, to me well-known
    as the stories he repeats
    of the adventures of
    stock car racing heroes, real,
    and of his, imagined,
    of how he’s going to race
    like them,
    when all he has struggles
    to bear the weight of his words,
    as I.

  26. Mike Bayles

    Taking a Ride with Big Billy

    His red Plymouth Duster
    leans to the left side
    with the bulk of his weight
    as he takes me for a ride
    down a street, to me well-known
    as the stories he repeats
    of rhe adventures of
    stock car racing heroes, real
    and of his, imagined,
    of how he’s going to race
    like them,
    when all he has struggles
    to bear the weight of his words,
    as I.

  27. Mariel Dumas

    Cupcake Boy

    Peering out the window I dreamed
    While drinking my coffee
    On a hot summer’s day
    After seeing a past passerby
    That left a dull staggering fault line in my malaise
    The thought of a red velvet cupcake entered my mind
    As I stood in line, all curls and gusto
    You asked me what kind
    You said I like Reese’s pieces too
    Both still and suddenly swept up
    In a Spring whirlwind of Shakespearean plight
    To say I love you while making a bowl
    Of bland tasteless pasta
    No sauce
    It was midnight and my head felt light
    My fingers steady in yours
    As we sat on the couch watching cartoons
    Two Ivy League graduates on sabbatical
    I guess we were high
    To hear I love you and pause;
    Too much energy for one tiny and holed dwelling-place
    To walk by and by in a dizzying endless night
    Until the storm tore at our limbs in mid December
    A pain so violent after a summer Pulp-like and vain
    It was colder in October as I watched you dance
    Wanting to cry
    But knowing I couldn’t fake real tears
    For you while boarding a plane
    To South America
    To hear your voice
    Once more
    As I walked away with a suitcase
    Thinking this all began
    With a perfectly innocent cupcake

  28. Rose Anna Hines

    WALT-Gloria Bostic & the many others who shared their griefs, sadness and sorrows & those with comfort and support.

    Today was the first day I could responds to the PAD, I started with day #13, thought it might be an easy start. Now tears flow, but water is cleansing and souls need to swim at times. I guess 13 is a lucky yet somber number.

    I am very grateful to feel such depth and care. It will be a hammock to rest in at least in my mind while my feet and arms run todays race.

  29. Rose Anna Hines

    I held you in my arms felt your trembling tiny body.
    Your little heart beat tap on my heart.
    How you cuddled between my breasts.
    Even in those days when I would wash your dirty bottom,
    you always seemed to like the water.
    Did it remind you of the womb?
    In the tub you splashed around until I was soaked too.
    I should have known, you would love to swim in pool or waves.

    It was so cute how you licked your milk. You were never a fussy eater.
    I saw your first flimsy steps
    and marveled as you became a sleek runner.
    How you loved to play,
    run, jump, chase, roll and even dance.
    But balls were your favorite.
    How your amber eyes smiled when I said, "You want to play catch"

    In some ways, you always stayed a child
    your dragged your blankee and teddie
    to every corner of the house
    out to the yard, into the car,
    to grammies and the park
    and always to bed with you.
    Even as you grew independent
    you still liked to lay with your head in my lap
    and I think you loved our walks
    especially at the beach and in the redwoods.

    Now you are gone, buried in your favorite ground.

    Despite wrinkles on my face,
    there are no wrinkles in memories of
    you sitting listening to every word
    and wagging your tail with zest every time you saw me.
    Rose Anna Hines

    **PLEASE HELP, I HAVE TRIED AT LEAST 20 WAYS TO GET THE STANZAS TO COPY AS I HAD INTENDED, and although went typed into the comments section they are as I intended, in the preview additional spaces are present. LIKE BETWEEN "IN THE TUB…& i SHOULD HAVE KNOWN" AND "I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN & IT WAS SO CUTE", SHOW UP WHICH I DON’T INTENDED AND CAN’T FIGURE OUT HOW TO KEEP THE STANZAS

  30. Kimberly Brock


    When all was said and done
    He was my best friend
    We were even corny enough
    To finish each others sentences
    Too much alike
    Both unable to handle the pain
    That came our way.
    Together we fought apart
    For righteousness,
    But separated,
    We lost each other.
    Now our friendship
    Floats in the air as
    Unsettled and unsure
    As we are about our own lives.

  31. Domino

    Thanks to Eve Brackenbury, Connie L. Peters, Buddah Moskowitz (I love your name, by the way!), Joseph Beckman.

    Thank you, especially, Joseph, for your kind words. I know my father’s intent was not to desert us, but the way things fell out, my mother trying to get him to pay child support, his avoidance, and as he put it, his “love for us made it hurt to much for him if he could not have us with him all the time.” To me, this does not excuse him, but it does help one understand a little. Most of the time, what transpired is what a parent fears most. But having that fear almost guarantees it won’t happen. Parents who parent with so much love rarely fail. Thank you so much for the poem, as well. I often feel him with me, now, almost regretting his actions on the earth, but I am never sure if it is me wishing that or something else.

    The few poems I had the time to read were amazing and touching, but I rarely have enough time to look at them all. A few really stood out to me though:

    Amigo, by Walt – and I missed his prolificity today immensely. (Hope you’re doing okay, Walt.)

    The Wind by The Doctor; Andrew, by Joseph Harker; Marguerite by Marian Veverka; Saved by the Bell by Patricia A. Hawkenson; Male Bonding, by Joseph Beckman; Louise Lives by Dare Gaither; Lingering Embrace by Julie Hayes; Leech, by Arielle Lancaster-LaBrea; Oh and so many more… But must run now. XOXOX

  32. Jane Shlensky

    Thanks to Benjamin Thomas, Connie Peters, Sara McNulty, and Marian Veverka for words of encouragement over the past two days. I’ll try to catch up today.

  33. Katrin Talbot

    The Potato Eater

    I can still hear her
    husky voice through all
    the decades standing
    in the way…
    Patty, the second-grader,
    anointed with more
    than her share of freckles,
    had a taste, already,
    for the prohibited,
    the controlled substances;
    she’ d lick glue and paint
    off her fingers
    and had a particular fondness
    for luscious lapis fingerpaint
    But one of her favorites
    was potato from
    potato printing;
    I remember
    a red + sign potato half, and
    the taste of that raw sliver
    she ‘forced’ me to sample
    –the giggling serpent
    in the Garden of Art Class

  34. PSC in CT

    Away all day yesterday, I am only getting this out here today. Now, I’m off to pick up today’s prompt and try to catch up. Back later to read & comment — I hope!


    She didn’t want to come
    but we convinced her; she couldn’t
    resist our cajoling for long (and we kids were
    prepared to continue forever).
    The dangling gondola revealed the sights
    for miles in every direction.
    “Just this once”, she succumbed, and
    we thought we’d won

    Later, suspended from a cable,
    swaying in the breeze, we beg her to
    look; but, her eyes tightly closed,
    hands clenching the rail, she
    confesses to a fear of heights: “the ground
    draws me”, she admits, “a magnetic pull,
    hard to resist; looking down, I yearn
    only to jump.”

    And just like that we learned
    sometimes love does stupid things, discerned
    winning isn’t always a victory; at that moment
    her disclosure enthralled, mesmerized us all,
    opening our eyes

  35. Babs Loyd

    Poem a Day #13

    Tears for Lost Dreams

    I cried as I ordered flowers
    for her funeral, my dreams of her
    holding my child born a few months
    after her death were shattered.

    The cycle of life turns,
    keyed by an unseen clock,
    and some day my progeny
    may regret that I, too,
    could not stay to see
    their babies.

  36. Babs Loyd

    Poem a Day #13

    Tears for Lost Dreams

    I cried as I ordered flowers
    for her funeral, my dreams of her
    holding my child born a few months
    after her death were shattered.

    The cycle of life turns,
    keyed by an unseen clock,
    and some day my progeny
    may regret that I, too,
    could not stay to see
    their babies.

  37. Walt Wojtanik

    Thanks De, Zeb. Yes, Andrea is rising above it in a very positive way, probably all that good karma from this amazing mass of poets. Zeb, you’ll find quickly (if you haven’t already) once you’re in this "family" there is no getting out. Welcome to the fold.


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