Dear Dad
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These deceased years: like an unidentified flash in the night.
the same flash that haunts me
day after day is father’s day
Dead Father’s day
I wish this day possessed magic
so I could tell you that I’m sorry
for all my wrongs, for not being a better son
when I see your grandchildren
whom you have never
I know that you are here
in the water of the stream
in the laughter of these children
who only know you as a picture
I can hear their smiles
as I hide and mourn
my Dead Father’s day
I will go to them
and fish as we would
I will listen to the spill
run over the rocks
and between our feet
trying all the while
to be here . . . right here
not reassembling time
to the day before
Dead Father’s day
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 2:24 PM
8 Comments:
*hug*
love you James.
nice work, the voice so sad is a very nice touch. i love the way you say 'identified'. cool
it is what it is.
thanks you two.
I hear you and am with you, my brotha!
There you are.
To live in the now is so important.
But not to remember, I cannot.
Haunting.
I really enjoyed it.
Poignant, epiphanic and powerful.
Nicely read too.
thanks for the read, mer. You're a good person.
*Sir James bows to the fine artist lady as he backs away slowly into the shadows.
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