Tuesday, April 5, 2016

This is a poem I had published a couple of years back in a journal called POEM, which is published by the Huntsville Literary Society, in Huntsville, Alabama.  Once again I am confronting my past and remembering my grandfather and his life along with my life in suburbia.  I hope you enjoy this.

Another Winter 

I listen to the trees at the farthest edge
of the suburb, to the combing voice
of the wind grooming my amazement. 

Winter bristles with my stories.
Old folks populate my voice.
My grandfather rises before dawn
with an intention that sharpens steel. 

Grass grows in every place
I have lived, every crevice that conceals
my footprints. Solace is the sunlight shining
between houses that quickens my survival. 

I have trudged through a lifetime of snow
to believe myself, to trust my eyes
and follow my hands through a starry upheaval.

My nights at home follow
all my notions
of struggle, when soldiers make
their beds in tanks, when innocent men reminisce
over their guilty days, when fear
is meat and bread, a sacrilege
everyone consumes through all the wars,
a way of calling each day by its name. 


To understand life
is to follow the gaze that underscores pain,
that movie no one can stop talking about,
the warmth that creeps down my neck
at the farthest end of feeling.

A man like me conceals the circumstances
of his laughter, which call him
back to his shame, that dismal breakfast,
through the words of a joke he plays on himself,
a lie he learns to repeat, comfort
he shares with no one.




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