Sunday, June 7, 2009

7665 (And Counting)

Dear Daddy,

I don’t wear holes in my shirt
so that my misfortunes have free admissions
I don’t lie face down in the mire
to weep your tears for you
I don’t spin gold from
the blue blood names you strap on
I don’t wait with a net
to guide your dreams back home
I don’t tell you about
black marigolds and a god of no gods
I don’t do much at all for you
Not really, not ever, no wonder in silence.

(I too wonder where the fish and
its shocked little soul went
In that final dark flush of its life.)

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