Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Oct 2014 Jay
He Pa'amon
I think too much,


                                              and sometimes
                                                       ­                         

                                      ­                                               I forget to breathe.
 Oct 2014 Jay
Theodore Roethke
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
Next page