Oct 2013

What do you tell your father
When he says that your work reminds him of T.S. Eliot,
That the world is beautiful and sad?
Is it because Eliot is arrogant or because you are not (and have a need to be)?
(To be; me.)
My work is not an awakening--you say.
But is it not?
Do you not wake every day, waiting for the sun's rays...
To start the song of conscious breathing.
What do you tell your father
When the prelude is but a melancholic string,
A memory you must retreat
To the clouds above
Like the balloons from the grocery store
He and she would gather.
What do you tell your father...
You tell him nothing, you let your breathing resume,
You give him this poem, a scrape in space,
And let him read it.
Afterwards you let him kiss your forehead
And hold you tight
As the silly drum of his hands on your back
Make you cry and laugh.