Tag: #Metaphor

A gray morning starts the day.

A light dusting of wet snow 

greets me and the dogs

before my coffee and breakfast

can have a say in the matter.



And you are no longer 

in this world

to see the same sky

or to visit me here.



The last twelve years

we made up for

the lost years of the forty-eight

we’ve been friends--

Our marathon talks about our kids,

our hopes and worries for them,

the birth of your grandchildren,

the death of my wife,

the blasphemous betrayal of aging--

all our griefs and our celebrations.



Sharing, as adults, the things

We could not share as kids,

how we survived the fog bank

attack of our mother’s hearts

upon our own to live our lives

in the sunlight of the earth.

You were the one to word it best-

Like the little girl with the curl 

in the middle of her forehead:

When they were good, 

they were very good

and when they were bad,

they were horrid.



How often, always it seems to me,

you bested me in our repartees of humor and wit,

until I did cry, Uncle, I give! 

The two of us laughing,

fighting hard to catch our breath.



In the end, your body betrayed your spirit.

I would rewrite your ending if I could.

I’d write you healthy for years to come,

running and playing with your granddaughters,

seeing graduations and weddings—

Of course, selfishly,

I’d write you many visits

to see me here in this mountain paradise

of a place where I am blessed to be.

Where we’d sit—

you sipping your Jameson Irish Whiskey

and I my glass of wine,

as we laughed and teased each other

in our merciless way.

Then you’d talk of your son 

and I my daughter,

what motherhood meant,

and how we survived our own mothers.

I’d write you happiness,

finding love with an Andy Garcia

look alike who would worship you.

I’d write your ending

with a pain free body, 

sitting in the sun 

while you watched

your great-grandchildren at play.

Finally, selfishly,

I’d rewrite feeling your absence 

from this world.