I Ignore Too

A hand goes up in a house somewhere on the edge of nowhere.
A child taught never to speak out of turn is seeking permission
to be a part of a conversation.

It is raining outside. The ground is turning to mud.
And the fathers head is in a cloud fugue of “I was a master, my
hands once built houses.”

The mother forgot her power
a long time ago to a man who thought clothes were for
tearing and ripping through.

The child’s hand is still raised
like a frozen mile marker indicating an event of great importance
a long time ago.

If I were writing about this event
20 years ago I would insert here a metaphor about someone
coming or going on a train

Or that they had booked passage
on a ship; but today is today – so now the pain is written and
arrives in an email.

So you tell me, what
is the difference between that email and silence? “Ignoring”
is the new great art form.

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2 responses to “I Ignore Too

  1. Great poem, Poetman. Taking up where Lowell left off?

  2. Hi Jordan,

    Where, pray tell did Lowell leave off…

    Poetman

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