A master of language =’s metaphor making and a heart pouring sorrow after the quake of a childhood of battered day dreams and longing. Silent no longer. Sonnet then a holler… Rhymed once up on a time, but that was then and never again – now on a ladder or maybe an escalator climbing.
Fall, never. Worry always…
Name =’s mystery x honesty =’s My story. Born to Frank and Barbara. Lonely boy meets lonely girl – both of them wanting to be heard while doing all the talking. Frank the son of a ghost town gambler and Barbara the Daughter of Lutheran father.
Meet, and fall in love – each for their seperate fire escape reasons – for them love = ed an escape from some other untenable terror. She said, “Daddy Daddy I want to be a little girl forever” and he said “Mommy Mommy make me a man of meaning”.
I wonder what it looked like to see these two mirrors looking into themselves without dignity…or concern for others. I wonder what it sounded like to hear their whispered prayers…
Police, blood and bail even before they married – with god and in front of witnesses they said “We do. We will do unto. We will do unto our children what was done to us by others.”
Two people swearing, “I will be a good commiserater”. And, “we will lay together like lawn chairs and make a home where nuclear time bombs can tick-tock on top of our refrigerator”.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, children = 3 momma breakdowns – 3 arrest of Dad, 1 death of a stranger – Saturday night bouts drinking vats of liquor – at least a thousand lashes – countless scars, visible and otherwise and these statistics do no justice and give no meaning to the life I lived there…or the love that can well up from the tear ducts of such a disaster.
Tell them that you have seen their second son – that he grew up a poet and is writing about them for everyone…