We knew when he was home

because his boots would be by the front door

when we woke up.

And they’d be in their room,

with the door closed.

No matter how many days, weeks or months

he had been gone…

We tried to give them their time.

Even if we waited impatiently-

like four little monkeys,

giggling loudly,

flopping around in the hallway.

Until he opened the door

and his arms,

so we could fall into the embrace

that only Dad can give.

When we moved to Missoula,

she changed.

I blamed her at the time.

Now I know

that she was only human,

that she needed him

and he was always gone.

When it happened,

I didn’t ask why,

I knew.

I had been the one to tell him

about the other man.

And he had known

but he hadn’t wanted to face it.

Until he had to.

When he heard my words,

he went outside into the dark.

And he prayed…

underneath the blanket of stars

underneath a swaying tower of pine trees.

I watched my father’s tall silhouette sink into the ground

as he fell to his knees,

flattened his chest against the Earth.

It was the only time I saw him cry to God

while asking to be forgiven-

because he knew it was over

and he knew it wasn’t all her fault.



It’s Open Link Night, Week 124 over at d-Verse~ Poet’s Pub.  This is my submission.  Go check them out, lots of great poets!


Still too late

Here it is, they said,

and drew lines in the dirt.

Inside these lines you will stay

and live with your hurt.

Shut your mouths

and your minds.

Get over it, move on.

In Government memos

they said;

keep them drunk,

keep them senseless

and speechless.

They cannot survive.

Put their bones in the ground.

Make their languages forgotten sound.

Beat them, abuse them,

teach them to hate.

Guess what, you assholes….

A hundred years passed

and you’re still just too late.

Still chasing the money.

Chase, chase.

Waste the Earth.

In the end no one buys

their ultimate worth.

Faith says

go to your end with clean hands.

What have we done

with this thing known as man?