You were twelve-years-old
when I left you to grieve alone.
You were in the seventh grade
when I left you to raise yourself.
You were just a kid when I left.
Mom was 45 when she died.
I left to start my life at 19.
What the hell did I know?
I knew our family was broken,
bongs and Bob Marley silkscreens adorning
the kitchen table.
I knew our house was unsafe for any child.
I knew you would be just fine.
I knew that I had to get the hell out of there,
and believe that you would be just fine.
I was wrong.
You were just a kid when I left
stuck between a state of pathos
and a synthetic happiness.
Are we reduced to just one line at the time of our death?
TJN of Denver, a daycare provider, died Monday.
What is your line?
ENJ of Denver, a drug addict and frequent inmate, died.
What will be my line?
AEN of Aurora, apotheosized sibling and lionized long-distant relative, died on Friday.
We are all trying to gain some insight or perspective
that will serve us when we put our pens down for the last time.
3 comments:
I have started and stopped this letter so many times that I have lost count. I do not know what to say, really, so I am attempting to use poetry as a way to give me words. Who knows if I will ever send it, but I wanted to finally get something on paper. #UndiscoveredPoetry
I agree that this may not be finished yet. But sometimes we have to let them go,flawed as they may be. As a poet,you are a delightful discovery for me. What a stunning writer you are.
It may not be finished, in that it may be impossible to close the door on such pain. But it certainly stands as a fine poem. What a delightful discovery for me to find such a poet. Stunning writing. Thank you .
Post a Comment